Godzilla l Marvel Saga: Book 2: AFTERMATH
by HeatseekerX51
Summary: Following the seismic events of WORLDS COLLIDE, these five stories follow Gigan, The X-Men, The Fantastic Four, Spider-Man, SHIELD, HYDRA, Captain America, and many others in the AFTERMATH of what the Kaiju invasion inflicted on their world. Villains, heroes, and monsters go head-to-head once more in this series as the crossover saga continues. Stories not in chronological order.
1. Agent Gigan pt1: RISE

_Ok, a few words first.  
_

 _ **Firstly** , thank you all for coming back to the Godzilla|Marvel Saga, I hope that you all will enjoy these future additions at least as much as you enjoyed the first book. _

_**Secondly** : **Get an account!** If you are on here as a guest, and leave a comment with the expectation/hope I will respond, then you need to have an account with FanFiction. If you don't, I'm literally unable to reply to you. The site has nowhere to send the reply. So since I like responding to you guys so much, please, help me, help you, get a response to your comment. _

_**Thirdly** : Book 2 "AFTERMATH" Is a collection of different stories, and are not, I say again, NOT in chronological order. It will also not have the grand scope of characters and events that "WORLDS COLLIDE" had. WC was big for a reason. If you are wondering what a particular character is doing during these events, don't worry, their time will come._

 _Alright, I think I've covered my bases here. So without further ado..._

 _The Godzilla|Marvel Saga continues._

* * *

 **AGENT GIGAN**

 **Part 1:**

 **Marvel Universe 115**

 **2 days after Godzilla returned**

Tall double doors slid away from one another, illuminating the long dark hanger from the outside. A woman in a tight black outfit stood in the light's path as the darkness parted, a serious face under her wavy red hair. The scope of the hanger did more than dwarf her, it reduced her to a speck of shadow against the yawning entrance. When the doors reached the end of their track with a clang, she did not move, instead she welcomed the incoming object.

"CLEAR!" She announced.

The roar of engines whined to life, dozens of motorized flatbeds working in unison at their massive task. Laying with the right side of its face upon the foremost vehicle, the head of a motionless creature was hauled into the empty space, the tall metallic spike that toped its cranium as long as a commercial plane. Passing over the threshold, its single red optic, cracked and spider-webbed in the center.

As the delivery of the titanic body continued, a charcoal-grey van bearing the eagle crest of the Strategic Homeland Intervention and Enforcement Division drove in beside it. Coming to a stop next to the woman with an abrupt break, the door panel opened, and out stepped Otto Octavius. Long metallic tentacles gripped onto the concrete floor to help carry him out, moving him forward with graceful strength even as his legs dangled uselessly. The man emerged, civilian clothes on over the body harness that anchored the tentacles, his attention transfixed on the cybernetic titan, his grand ambition laid out before him.

The red-haired woman greeted Octavius with a slight nod, but kept her distance. Not that he took the effort to notice as her, the locomotion of the artificial arms keeping him on a parallel course with the body.

Next out of the van was a blonde man in the standard SHIELD uniform, Agent Clay Quartermain supervisor of the transport mission flexed his spine after a long ride. The woman greeting him with a markedly more friendly nod of the head. He returned it with a gesture of his own and a smile of relief. Quartermain reached back into the van and extracted a briefcase likewise embossed with the eagle logo. Heaving it out with no small degree of grunting, he extended the handle, set it on the floor, and carted it off to attend his own business.

Last out of the vehicle, was another woman with red hair. Carrying herself sharply in a SHIELD uniform, she presented a near mirror image of the other. Her features were sharper however, having a more predatory gleam in her blue eyes. This new arrival waved a few polite fingers in her direction along with a tight smirk. Agent Claire Marion draped her right hand over the butt of her holstered sidearm before falling in behind the men.

The woman raised the corner of her mouth in an imperceptible half-snarl. But all the while the droning machine noise of the flatbeds behind her continued, and it was now she turned back to examine the awe-inspiring sight. Clad in twilight blue armor, bearing weapons comprised of interstellar metals, and bleeding and sparking from its several exposed wounds, Gigan, was all but dead. She wondered if such a thing could even be considered more animal than machine to qualify as dead.

"Our encounter with the monsters from the other side changed our world forever.

Wakanda no longer existed, Westchester, Connecticut and swaths of New York City had been leveled,

S.H.I.E.L.D. was a shadow of it's former self, spending as much time putting itself back together as it was maintaining operations. Since priority was focused on rebuilding civilian infrastructure, work on the Triskelion took almost a year to complete. A second Helicarrier had been in the manufacturing process when Godzilla destroyed the fist one, but progress on its construction was brought to a halt by the diversion of resources. It was only when repairs to the Triskelion was finished that the time and energy was reallocated, taking a further 4 months to complete.

Native threats too, reared their heads in the power vacuum. The paramilitary organization HYDRA took the opportunity to increase in size and flex their muscles overseas, becoming the shadow government to several cities and regions already known for corruption.

The Brotherhood of Mutants, having liberated their leader Magneto, staged several terrorist attacks against governments that had instituted harsh laws on Mutants, mostly in the Islamic nations and China. The X-Men tried to combat them, but the Brotherhood avoided direct conflict where they could. Choosing to strike and withdraw before counter-forces could be brought to bear.

Then there were the few incidents involving our own Kaiju, as we had adapted the term from our neighbors. Fortunately, Spider-Man was able to prevent a creature in New York City from causing more serious damage than it could have. The Fantastic Four also dealt with a bizarre alien life-form that had gotten loose in the Atlantic.

Without the reach of S.H.I.E.L.D. to intervene, foreign and private groups took their own measures towards protection. Justine Hammer, daughter of Justin and inheritor of Hammer Industries made a fortune with a revitalized Sentinel Program, having acquired the technology from the defunct Trask Industries. Using the death of her father as a selling point to portray herself as a crusader for security, she was able to sell hundreds of the androids to governments and corporations. Some were used to secure borders, some to guard certain installations, and some to crack down on dissidents.

All the while, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick Fury, had his own vision of the future of American security, a daring new initiative called 'Project Insight'. It was originally conceived as a program to identify and resolve hostile persons and events either before or as they happened. But the acquisition of the Gigan changed things, transforming the project into something much more ominous.

My name is Natasha Romanov, known to others as the Black Widow. I was tasked by Director Fury to oversee the security of the project. We had intercepted several bits of intelligence from groups like A.I.M., The Hand, and HYDRA concerning their interest in infiltrating the base where Insight was being put together, A.I.M. the most of all. Not to say I blame them, who wouldn't want a giant cybernetic war-machine at their control?"

 **FOUR MONTHS LATER**

"Is it not fascinating?" Otto exclaimed, peering through the magnification goggles. On the table before him, was one of the cybernetic spider-droids suspended upon a thin pedestal that allowed its arms to hang down. "Its construction is seamless, more advanced that any terrestrial technology I've ever seen!" The cat-sized creation was a sleek black disk, fat in the center and rounded towards the edge, from ports on its sides came four segmented legs ending in walking spikes, and four more appendages from the top side ending in grasping digits.

Around the table, Nick Fury stood with arms folded across his chest, and Quartermain leaned forward, handling one of the lifeless tentacles.

"looks like one of those claws you use to grab a stuffed animal out of a prize machine."

Otto grinned, his own fingers tightening in anticipation. "A rudimentary observation, agent, but sufficient. The debriefing from Katherine Pryde and Mrs. Pym confirms that these magnificent creations served to maintenance the innards of the cyborg." He picked the thing up in his hand, cradling it like a piece of ancient pottery. "But even this incredible work is paltry compared to the monster itself."

"What have you learned Octavius?" Fury asked, breaking the stoic silence he had maintained since arriving. "What do we know about this thing?"

Otto handed the spider-droid to one of his tentacles, and pivoted towards the window of the room, which overlooked the main space of the hanger. Supported on multiple pillars, the space-kaiju Gigan lay prone, it's limbs, head and tail suspended by a forest of cables from the ceiling. Dangling like a marionette, tangled in strings. Dozens of scientists and workers bustling around him like termites on a mound.

"I could spend the next thousand years studying the Gigan. We have only scratched the surface, in a most literal sense."

One of the doctor's metallic arms reached over to a large glass cylinder with a chrome cap, inside of which was a pot of dark colored sand and dust. The claws clamped around the top and brought it over to Fury to hold.

"During our initial inspections, I discovered some encrustation lodged in one of the exposed artificial lungs, an accumulation of dust it must have inhaled."

"And what does it tell you?" Turning the jar over in his hands, Fury watched the material slide smoothly.

"What you are holding, Director, are compounds and elements that mankind has never seen before. What's more, after analyzing the compounds we were able to identify, the radiation and specific composition tells us that this creature is roughly six-billion years old. Give or take."

"Six billion years old?!" Agent Quartermain balked, staring at the dust incredulously. "How is that even possible!?"

The multi-armed scientist smirked, amused by the man's bafflement, his lack of scope. "My educated guess, is that the cybernetic altercations have extended its life, though, we have no way of knowing what this creature's natural life-span would have been."

On the window before them, Otto pressed his bare hand, activating the built-in computer. A series of data windows appeared across the pane, graphs of the monster along with various measurements and mathematical formulas.

"There is also of course the data provided by Reed Richards that he obtained on the other side."

Another series of pictures splashed on the glass, these ones depicting Gigan as he was in the early 1970's. Green skin, gold scales, and hook-like appendages instead of the metallic scythes.

"As we see, the armor he wears now is a recent modification, likely the hand of adoptive masters and not his original creators. See here before, its body was more organic. Curiously, and while I could be mistaken given the circumstances, I would further say that the modifications to its vital organs; brain, heart, aforementioned lungs, are original. Their technological signature is not just older than the exterior retrofitting, but, I think, far more advanced."

Fury noted the clear distinction between the design concepts, imagining the designers sacrificing the fluidity, reaction time, and instincts that came with a living breathing actor. Exchanging it for superior weaponry, defenses, and no doubt, control. He for one always preferred the human factor to micro-management. While there were downfalls like unpredictability, it proved the more efficient method for getting things done.

"Redesigned for combat, for war."

"Quite right." Otto summoned another data window, this one containing a video file. Playing, it showed Gigan raking its thin red beam across a cityscape, an armada of alien aircraft in the skies behind it. Then the scene cut to show it grappling with Godzilla, the atomic titan's hand pushing back the gnashing beak pincers. Gigan lashed out with the back edge of it's scythe, slicing into Godzilla's neck and ushering a gush of blood to come spurting out, Godzilla retaliating with a tail swing the bowled the cyborg over.

Watching the fight, Nick Fury thought back to the bombardment Godzilla had withstood from the Helicarrier, nothing in their arsenal doing so much as make him flinch.

"The metal weapons, do you know what they're made of?"

At this, Octavius waved his palm across the screen, removing all the cluttered data. Then his fingers maneuvered on the pane as if he were entering commands, after which a new series of windows appeared. The two in the center, featured molecular composition formulas, along with images of microscopic analysis. The details of the comparison were almost identical as far as Fury could tell.

"The one on the right is what the Gigan's scythes and buzz saw blades are made of. The one on the left is Adamantium." Otto pointed to each in turn.

"But they look the same." Clay remarked. "This thing is armed with Adamantium weapons, like Wolverine?"

"To the untrained eye, it would appear so." The doctor corrected. He laid a finger on each image, and moved them to the center where they overlapped. "There are however, slight differentiations in composition and molecular structure. A brilliant example of 'convergent metallurgy' if you will. I have dubbed this variation: _Adamantium Giganus_."

Quartermain raised an eyebrow. "Gig-anus?"

Fury grunted in the effort to hold back a chuckle, but Otto made a sound of something temporarily lodged in his throat. "Comical applications aside, agent, we still have quite a way to go to before we fully grasp the nature of the cyborg. I expect we will learn much more once we get the smaller machines up and running again to conduct repairs."

"You sure that's a good idea, Otto?" Fury asked. "Have a bunch of alien robots running around the facility?"

Octavius dismissed the data on the window with a wave, clearing the pane. "It is our best option, Director. We simply do not possess the materials or the details required to return the Gigan to its full functionality. The droids however…" The tentacle swung over, still clutching the black automaton. "They know everything."

 **THREE MONTHS LATER**

The floor of the facility and underlying substrata had been steadily excavated for months, all in the service of installing a vertical support bracket tall enough for the cyborg to stand upright. Hundreds of tons of earth and stone removed by crews working day and night. It would have been enough to build a mountain on the salt lake outside the facility, but the Pym Particles used to shrink the shipping containers made concealing the massive amount downright convenient. The material was put to good use however, reinforcing the foundation of the Triskelion.

Gigan, now secured in the brace, was covered by catwalks and scaffolding, enabling the men and women to conduct their work no longer hindered by having half their subject inaccessible. Scientists in small mobile bucket lifts took samples from inside the open wounds, collecting gobs of tissue and mucus in sterile containers, and using hydraulic cutting tools to remove bits of armor.

One female scientist examining the broad red optic laid her hand on the surface and felt that it was, incredibly, still warm.

Lurking on a scaffold that spanned the roof of the facility, the Black Widow leaned over the railing, observing all that occurred below with a keen eye. Despite the vetting process that any of the crew or scientists had gone through to be here, the specter of a mole or saboteur could not be ruled out. Most of everyone seemed normal, a few having a personality quirk or two. But the doctor, the man in charge of the restoration project, Otto Octavius had the uncanny ability to creep out even her experienced nerves.

She took out a small telescoping lens from her beltline, flicking it to its extended position. Putting it to her eye, she spied down to his office, there through the wide window, she could see him in the midst of a delicate procedure.

The spider-droid was held aloft on its little pedestal, arms strung above it to keep clear of the things equatorial line. Another machine, built atop an adjoining table, looked something like an industrial laser, only scaled down. Aimed directly at the droid, were twin tubes no thicker around than the barrel of a .22 rifle.

Octavius slipped a pair of protective goggles over his eyes, and making extra sure the bores were aimed on target, laid his hand on a dial. As he turned it, a pair of brilliant blue lights beamed outward to strike the body of the droid on its equatorial line. A trail of smoke began to rise from the point of contact, and Octavius turned the dial a bit more. Satisfied by a newly erupting shower of sparks, one of his metallic arms reached out to manipulate a dial on the other table, this one operating the base of the pedestal.

As the lasers continued to bite, the droid was carefully spun in place, leaving a trail of white-hot superheated metal as it did. When the procedure had run its course, and the lasers has circumnavigated the entire disk, he turned off the rays and deactivated the engine at the control panel with an audible whine as the power cells ceased to feed. Moving the laser machine aside, two of his artificial limbs latched onto the top and bottom of the alien machine, and slowly peeled the halves away from one another, one side an empty shell. The inner circuitry exposed, he hastily removed his goggles and gazed on with awe at the work of the Vortaak war-engineers.

 **ONE WEEK LATER**

Octavius hovered over the naked brain of the spider-droid, cradled as it was in the bowl-shaped holder. Strapped to his face he wore a set of microscopic goggles, capable of magnifying the tiny circuitry before him. A shiver of excitement went down his spine as he examined the alien craftsmanship, the shiver ending at the lumbar where all sensation was cut off.

Two of his tentacles lowered methodically, tiny instruments poking out from their palms to do the precision work. The reflection of the small sparks and arcs of power danced in the lenses of the glasses, a mind totally consumed with unlocking its secrets.

 **SIX MONTHS LATER**

The two crewmen in their SHIELD overalls bearing sub-machine guns fired a few errant shots at their pursuers, their attempt to steal one of the android spiders foiled by a suspicious agent. Their superiors at AIM were more demanding than usual in acquiring specimens of the cyborg's technology, telling them to return with something useful or not at all. It was with this sense of urgency that had pushed the men to become sloppy.

Escaping blindly down a hallway that branched off the main chamber, the one in front, holding a droid in his hands, put his shoulder into a door to open it and rush through. His partner paused and turned at the threshold, raising his scorpion submachine gun. But it never went off.

The body of the weapon was pushed aside as Agent Marion pounced on him, striking with a kick to the outside of his right knee at the exact moment she moved out of the guns line of fire. She followed-up with a palm strike to his nose, shattering the cartilage and sending blood and snot in a violent spray. This man however was merely an obstacle, it was the other man she needed. Claire turned in place, putting her back into his chest, wrapping her right arm around his own to ensnare the weapon into her control.

Driving backwards, she used his body as a shield entering the room. The partner still holding the droid instinctively leveled his own weapon, firing a few shots into his former accomplice's back in hopes of killing the agent through him. A burst of six shots spat forth, puncturing the hapless thief across his back, and eliciting a series of choking gurgles, crimson bubbling up from his shredded lungs.

The burst came to an abrupt end when the hammer clicked on the final round, the magazine empty. The man fumbled into a hip-pocket of his overalls for a second, but before he could even draw it out, Claire dropped her center of balance, allowing the dead-weight on her back to roll off her. In control of his weapon however, she fired a short four-round burst that ripped into flesh.

The man's body jerked comically with each shot, before both his weapon and the droid fell from his hands. He collapsed to his knees, head leaning backwards, watching helplessly as she approached.

"Who are you working for?" Claire asked in a calm and callous tone

But he could do little else beside gurgle and choke, staring up at her with wide, terrified eyes.

"You're not HYDRA." She said. Suddenly a shimmer of motion swept of her face, exchanging white skin for blue, and the yellow eyes of Mystique narrowed. "I would know."

The commotion of boots coming closer from the hall made her twitch with irritation, forced to resume her disguise before getting the answers she wanted. She lashed out with the heel of her right foot, hitting him under the chin and snapping his neck with a sickening crack. By the time she turned around, the familiar mask of Claire Marion was back on.

The first to enter the room was Agent Romanov, carrying a black pistol whose size belied the force of the rounds it bore. She saw Agent Marion standing over the second man, a trickling cut across her cheek evidence of a struggle. A few feet away, the spider droid lay where it had rolled to a stop. Marion stepped to retrieve it, but Natasha was quicker, grabbing it calmly but firmly before the other woman could lay a hand on it. For a few moments the two women stared at one another.

 **ONE MONTH LATER**

The spider-droid that had been opened was positioned in a frame designed to suspend it with minimal contact to the surface of the table, the brace constructed on non-conductive wood for protection. A dozen red, blue, and copper wires sprouted from the circuitry like a tangle of long hair, attached to specific places Octavius had deduced would stimulate the operating system.

He again wore his protective goggles, and a custom built suit of armored sections in case activation resulted in blowback of energy. Outside the room, watching through the window, Agents Quartermain, Romanov, Marion, and Director Fury waited with tight lips for the climax of the experiment. The reputed mad scientist had spent the better part of four months inserting his own hardware into the alien circuitry, hoping to override any programming that might prove hostile to humans.

The other ends of the numerous wires were coiled around one of four metal conductors, metal orbs the size of baseballs atop grounded cone-like spikes. Like the previous operation to open the droid, his hand was on a power control dial, ready to turn on the juice and bring this thing back to life. He gave his onlookers one final nod, which Fury returned, and turned the dial.

Arcs of electricity sparked between the orbs, increasing in succession the higher the dial was turned. The current traveled down the wires and hit the brain of the droid, illuminating the room with the glow of energy coursing into the circuitry. A throbbing sound accompanied the continuous power flow, soaking it in like water into a sponge.

The droid jerked suddenly, as if waking from a nightmare. Its burst of activity toppled it from the wooden brace, yanking itself away from the wires. Otto, stunned, recoiled where he stood, his metallic arms moving in front as an extra barrier of protection. On the other side of the window just behind him, the startled agents leaned a bit closer.

A red light appeared on the remaining half of the droid along the side as it righted itself onto its legs, the exposed half downwards. Otto watched the thing scramble somewhat haphazardly around the lab, hesitant to do anything to stop it that might earn its ire or disable it again. Finally, the spider came to a stop, its eye staring up to a series of plastic drawers. After a second it dashed over to the side of the room quick as a mouse, climbing up the desk, and up the wall of shelves.

Two tiny versions of Octavius' own arms sprouted from the top of the spider, and pulled the draw open. Reaching then inside, they extracted the other half of its carapace, clutching it to its exposed underside. A third arm slithered out from the body, the tiny digits separating to reveal what looked like a hypodermic needle. Craning over to the seam, a thin green beam shot out of the needle, the neck of the limb moving smoothly around the body. Reversing the work that Otto's laser had done, the spider-droid mended the separation without any outward sign of having been apart.

"Fascinating." Octavius muttered, the digit of one of his tentacles adjusting the goggles on his face.

Now made whole, the spider turned its eye towards Otto, crawling this time more methodically back onto the table where it had been resurrected. His metallic arms wavered ambiently as they usually did when not in active use, the man still marveling at the efficiency of the droid's artificial intelligence. The spider's own articulate tentacles began to sway in mimicry. It couldn't be seen behind the opaque lens of the goggles, but Otto's eyes opened in awe.

"Hello there my little friend."

From the other side of the window, Nick Fury watched the encounter play out with a tightened fist, not knowing whether to call for the room to be locked down or celebrate the milestone achievement in getting the cyborg operational again. Romanov and Quartermain stared intently at the machine, waiting for any sign that it could become a threat to the personnel of the facility. Agent Marion saw visions of a new world order being birthed.

An idea flashed into Otto's mind, a potentially risky one, but one worth a shot. There was a locked safe to his left, and he used one of his metal limbs to engage the combination dial. Entering the sequence of numbers with mechanical speed, when the lock clicked, the digits grabbed the handle and pulled it open.

The droids attention shifted immediately. Octavius' tentacle pulled out another of the crawling automations, holding it up for its counterpart to observe before setting it down on the table. For a few seconds the modified droid seemed to regard the other curiously, trying to figure out why it was not operational. It moved in close, using its arms to tilt the silent sibling so it could look into the glossy side. A beam of red light was suddenly cast from its eye, into the identical position of the other.

This interaction continued for several moments, then like a switch had been flipped, the legs that had been flaccid snapped to attention. A red light of its own appeared on the side of the second droid, signaling to its duplicate a successful activation. The two backed away from one another, the newly awakened drone pivoted sharply and heading towards the door.

Its leg spikes worked their way up the seam between the door and the frame itself, locating the handle half-way up. With a combination of limb work and extending its stalks, it opened the door.

The droid scrambled out of the room and onto the grated walkway, Romanov and Quartermain reached for their sidearms, prevented from drawing only by the outstretched arm of Nick Fury.

As if knowing instinctively where to go, the droid leaped from the edge of the platform, plummeting nearly a hundred feet until it landed on the railing of another catwalk scaffold, light as a feather. From there it skittered along the bar until it reached a new jump off point, heading inexorably in the direction of the titanic cyborg.

The SHIELD agents gawking over the railing watched the relatively tiny robot make its way home. Octavius however, was still transfixed by the sentient little android on his work table, staring back at him, curious, expectant.

 **THREE MONTHS LATER**

SHIELD scientists and mechanical workers sat around a table in the break room of the facility, the sink and refrigerator kept tidy and clean by the staff or professionals. A few men eating sandwiches munched casually as they watched the news feed on the television in the upper corner of the room. Sentinel units in the employ of the Roxxon corporation had successfully repelled an assault on one of their south Pacific oil rigs by Eco-terrorists. Footage of the humanoid robots blowing a hole in the hull of the invasive ship with energy weapons from their palms played over and over. What had gripped the public's attention in the time since their re-debut, was not the speedy rate at which governments and corporations purchased units, nor was it the astronomical profits HAMMER industries was raking in. Rather, it was the design itself.

Standing 60-meters tall, they were clad in black armor, their head a simple glossy cylinder from which two red lights peered out. Their buyers could throw on whatever aesthetic decorations they desired, but coming off the assembly line, they resembled an army of mechanical riot control police.

China, the biggest buyer of the new Sentinels held a parade through Beijing, to celebrate and posture that the destruction wrought by the kaiju would never be allowed to happen again. The reaction of the public was much less enthusiastic, onlookers remaining silent as the faceless automatons marched past, bedecked in the colorful embellishments of Chinese culture meant to dampen the intimidation and get the populace to identify them as protectors of the homeland.

Despite international sanctions, North Korea was able to purchase an undisclosed number of Sentinel units.

 **Unbeknownst to these men** in the break room, elsewhere in the facility, a truly revolutionary procedure was taking place.

A team of surgeons clad in scrubs and masks surrounded an operating table, spotlights encircling them like a choir. In the center of it all, four long and winding metallic tentacles stuck out from underneath a large white sheet. A square portion of it was cut out over the lower back region, and it was there the surgeons watched with astonished captivation. The spider-droid stood over the section of Octavius' lumbar that had been exposed by the doctors, his spinal column naked to the air.

The arms of the droid worked feverishly and without pause, slicing flesh, cartilage, and bone with two arms, the green beam of a third mending them back together in precise sequence. One of the doctors standing close to the table glanced sidelong to one of his colleagues, not sure what to make of the process going on before him. It was like watching the whole thing in fast-forward.

It took the drone a solid hour until the task was finished, reforging a section of vertebra in perfect congruence with the others. The red eye examined its work with a scan ray for a few seconds, locating nothing of further attention. Then its work turned to the partition of muscle and flesh, its diminutive digits grasping the halves and holding them together for the mending beam to go over.

A murmur of distress went up among the surgeons, unsure if they should intervene. But after seeing the efficiency with which the alien machine dealt with the injury, there was little doubt in their mind that they could not match its skill.

Hanging in the back, the tallest surgeon was the first to notice the twitching of Otto's toes.

 **A somewhat similar process** was occurring in the main hanger of the facility, with hundreds of the spider-droids crawling over Gigan. Dump trucks, their beds filled with scrap metal drove in procession along an improvised road alongside the titan. They tossed their loads into a huge pile, fodder for the droids to come and sift through for suitable material. They would select a bit of metal, take it up to whatever part of the armor needed repair, and use a blue beam to solder it in place.

The engineers could not comprehend the process, but the beam had the effect of transmuting whatever metal was used into the same alloy the aliens had built the armor of. Literally rearranging the molecules.

 **TWO MONTHS LATER**

In a separate facility, not far away, earthling mechanics and technicians had plenty of work to do. Standing side-by-side in the enclosed garage, the two modified Helicarriers awaited their debut, but much work remained to be done. They were the initial heart of Project Insight, but with the acquisition of the cyborg, they had taken on additional purpose.

On a catwalk that spanned the roof, much like his frequent partner Natasha, Clint Barton kept watch over things. Taking a bite of an apple skewered on an arrowhead, he wiped the juices from his mouth and set his cheek to rest on an upright palm. Hawkeye could remember being tasked to dull missions before, but this was turning into a life's work of boredom.

It was often stressed to him over his frequent objections and requests for reassignment, that the success of Project Insight was nonnegotiable as far as Director Fury saw it, and only those he trusted the most would be allowed positions of oversight. There were times that Clint wondered just what other fantastic perks came with being on Nick Fury's shortlist of friends.

He was glad construction was nearing an end.

 **ONE MONTH LATER**

Claire Marion paced slowly along the scaffolding, looking down over the railing to all the work being done around Gigan's chest saw, androids and men alike putting the final touches on the lower half of the body. Directly to her right was the crimson visor, restored to pristine condition, as sleek as calm water. She looked into its dark surface, seeing the reflection of herself staring back. No matter how many times she saw a different face in the mirror, despite it being the one she wore, there was always a bit of fascination. All the little details about a person's face, a whole history of a person's life and ancestral line told in the features.

What was this monster's story? She wondered, stopping to rest her arms across the rail. Where was it from? What did it look like before two sets of extraterrestrial Doctor Frankensteins mutilated him? For what purpose was it altered; war, amusement, labor, defense?

"What do you think about?" Claire said aloud, peering into the eye. "Do you think anymore? Or is it just the programming?"

"Just as long as it does what we tell it to do, I'm happy." Coming from the other side of the walkway, Agent Quartermain with a styrofoam cup in his hand also had his attention on the monster. "Though taking the Chinese military down a few pegs was pretty helpful. Might save us some trouble down the road."

As he took a sip of his drink, she could smell the aroma of the coffee, kindling a desire in her own taste buds for a fresh brew.

"A weapon like this could be useful in a lot of situations." She mused. "In the right hands, the Gigan could conquer nations. Or wrong hands, depending on which side you're on."

"And who's gonna be the first to build the competition?" Settling on the rail beside her, Clay scratched above his ear as he admired the scale of the creature. "Just like the atomic bomb, it's only a matter of time before somebody comes up with an answer to this thing. Their own giant cyborg, a nuclear machine gun, something terrible that brings us all closer to Armageddon."

Now this line of thought struck her interest, and she spared him a raised eyebrow as she turned towards him.

"Sounds like your not a fan of our recruit. Some weapons too dangerous for anybody to have?"

He shook his head with an exhalation of dismay. "The arms race just took a quantum leap forward, but we didn't. As amazing as this flying WMD is, we're still not much more than hairless chimps in the shadow of the monolith. But instead of banging sticks around, we've got laser swords."

"So yes then." Claire finished for him. "Too dangerous a toy for us to play with."

"To put it bluntly." He agreed as he took a sip of his coffee.

"I didn't know you were such a deep thinker." Claire made an overt show of roving her gaze on Quartermain's backside, biting her lip.

"We've been stuck in this basement for so long, I'm surprised we don't know each other a little better."

Seduction, one of the most powerful tools known to womankind. Able to get things for free, bypass barriers, make others your pawn, and topple nations. It was an instrument she had used to great effect on many occasions, and even if it wasn't totally effective, it tended to leave doors open for later on.

Her flirtatious tone didn't go unnoticed, and he glanced back at her with a mix of caution and interest. "I guess everybody down here's just kinda secretive, given the nature of what we're doing. Those people down there for instance."

Quartermain pointed to some of the technicians looking at an array of charts and diagrams of the cyborg.

"I know who they are, I have to check their security clearance every time they shop up for shift, but I've never traded more than a few words with any of 'em. They come in, go about their business, and I go about mine."

Claire smirked. "So you're all business, huh?"

He was quite sure how to respond to her, and for a moment the two just stared at each other in silence.

 **Minutes later,** the door to the supply closet was flung inward with a bang against the wall, Quartermain and Marion shoving themselves inside in a tangle of passion. Using her foot to maneuver the door shut, she allowed him to thrust her against a rack of cleaning supplies, and hooked her other leg around him. As Clay moved his mouth down her neck, Marion clutched the back of his head, gripping the hair between her fingers. For just a second when he couldn't see, she blinked, eyes turning from blue to a smoldering yellow. She blinked again, and they were normal.

 **TWO MONTHS LATER**

Natasha Romanov stood on a balcony overlooking the line of SHIELD staff exiting the facility for the day. Since the great bulk of the work in repairing the cyborg had been completed, it had been decided to discontinue running double shifts. Tonight however, was a benchmark moment, after almost two years, Gigan was whole again.

Down at the exit, Agent Quartermain checked out each of the men and women personally, reclaiming their security passes, and using a tablet to remove them from the roster of authorized personnel. It would probably take the next hour to sort through everyone, then tomorrow would begin the in-processing of mission staff. Some of them would be carryovers from the previous teams, but many would be coming over from the Helicarrier crew.

The plan would be to have Gigan and the new gunships form a triumvirate of unparallel firepower, more destructive than an army, but far more precise than a nuclear bomb. The changes the hanger had undergone since the day she stood by the front door and welcomed the crew inside were night and day. Gone was the empty space used for experimental aircraft, replaced by a technological facility that NASA could only dream about. The Gigan stood like a sleeping giant, cocooned by catwalks and work platforms, secured to the walls and ceiling by cables. The sight reminded Natasha of Gulliver's Travels, when the man awakens on the beach of Lilliput, constrained by all the ropes and tethers of the tiny people.

She wondered what would happen if the cyborg woke up right now.

A small thing she was thankful for, was that all of the spider-droids had retreated inside Gigan where they belonged. She found it unnerving to have them scampering around the facility. But one had remained behind, the first one Octavius resurrected. It hung around him like a pet, due of course to the hardware he had installed into its circuitry, making it loyal to him. There was also the unsettling comparison to be seen, the writhing mechanical tentacles giving the grotesque suggestion of some sort of relation. He had even given his bizarre companion a name.

Up above Romanov, on the opposite wall of the hanger, Romanov could see Director Fury in Octavius' lab, the pair likely discussing what to do with the Gigan now that repairs were finished.

" **The public won't like it."** Fury said with a shake of his head. "The last time they saw this thing, it was laying waste to Beijing." Leaning against the workdesk, the Director had his arms folded across his chest. "It won't be a parade down the street like what Hammer did with the Sentinels, but we need to run the cyborg through a few tests before the next catastrophe. If it goes rogue, I don't want it to be at the worst possible time."

Otto sat in a large chair, his artificial limbs serving as arm rests, hands steepled together. "Director, I would stake my very life on the unsurpassed quality of my control measures." One of other arms came up from behind him, holding a clipboard for his brief inspection. "The same technology that gives me control over my artificial appendages, is also what gives me mastery of the alien droid."

Stalking across the table, the robot he had domesticated went straight to his waiting hand. He stroked his fingers over the spider's exterior, the red eye fixed on Otto's benevolent face.

"As you can see, my methods are quite effective. Isn't that right, Pulpo?"

Fury winced at the sight, not made any better when the arms of the droid emerged from its back to entangle themselves with his fingers tenderly.

"In any case, the master controls for the Gigan still require some refinement. You will have sufficient time to decide how you would like to debut your new instrument of world peace. I assume you'll blow something up."

Much had been said about Otto Octavius, about his genius, his drive, his megalomania. Fury was privy to a few of the more unsavory rumors that were more truth than fiction, things one might think was inspired by horror movies. But the fact is that Otto was very good at what he set his mind to, and Fury wanted that talent working for him, following his direction. At least under the supervision of SHIELD, there would be no more incidents like there had been in Cuba.

"And you put something similar in the head of the Gigan?"

"A modified application, yes." Reclining in his chair, Otto took Pulpo and placed him on his lap. "Controlling the cyborg is a much more complex process than the human mind is capable of, the sheer scope of willpower and multicognition involved is beyond even my brain. Besides, the creature is not an automation, it has a thinking mind, **that** I am sure of. It is far more efficient to guide and direct such a thing than to try and hold it with an iron hand."

To accentuate his words, one of the tentacles reached towards Fury, snapping its digits closed.

"So you give it some free will, but keep it on a short leash." Turning towards the window, Nick pondered over the possible worst-case scenarios of awakening the monster. Would it even obey commands from something not its true master? Would it even work?

"How much free will does this thing even have?"

Otto shrugged, pivoting his chair to the side so he could get out from behind his desk. "It is unlikely we will ever know, it would take decades of research and experimentation to test the boundaries of Gigan's metal capacity. Even if we had his full brain to work with, we do not possess the means to properly analyze the alien technology. But…"

Coming around the desk, Octavius stood on his own two legs, a mischievous smile under his tinted glasses.

"Who's to say what miracles might be possible?"

 **THREE WEEKS LATER**

 **THE PEAK,**

 _ORBITAL PLATFORM OF S.W.O.R.D._

 _(SENTIENT WORLD OBSERVATION and RESPONSE DEPARTMENT)_

Activity on the bridge of the Peak continued to hum along as peacefully as it had for months. Little had occurred since the end of what the defense community referred to as the 'Kaiju-crisis', duty on the satellite one of the quieter places to be sent. Several months ago there had been a curious episode when they detected a number of unidentified alien ships moving just at the extremity of their observational range. What made them watch very closely, was the number of signatures in the formation, and their arrangement.

The sheer quantity suggested one of two possibilities, the first being an armada in route to wage combat. But that would require a tactical formation of the ships during movement. What they observed however, seemed to be a hodge-podge of scattered craft heading in roughly the same general direction. What one might expect to see from a group in flight, fleeing some devastation or pursuer.

SWORD Director Abigail Brand was still ruminating on the queer incident as she strolled onto the bridge, morning travel mug of coffee in hand. In her other hand was a holographic window projected out from a small rectangular device, featuring a list of summarized briefing updates. Most items concerned the logistics of running the PEAK; food and water rations, air production, daily living supplies, any issues during shift changers. Other notifications included any events on the ground that might warrant her concern, usually just advisories that made their way through the whole intelligence community.

"Blah, blah, blah." She muttered, swiping through the one data window after another with the pinky finger of her coffee hand. Striding to her workstation, she spared a side glance to the massive wall of windows that faced out towards the stars, seeing the familiar collage of twinkling lights amidst the endless void.

"Outer space…. Still there."

"Good morning Ma'am." One of her male staffers greeted her as he passed by.

"Morning, Stevenson." Abigail returned, dropping into the cushions of her swivel chair and taking a sip of her drink. Eyes still glued to the reports, she hadn't done more than put her elbows on the table when the sound of gasps began to spread though the bridge.

Behind the green glasses her brow pinched in confusion, attention lingering on a description about the X-Men having some strange trees growing on the property. She had consulted with Henry McCoy on several occasions after the Kaiju Crisis, and anything involving Xavier's team was usually an interesting read.

When she was finally able to peel herself away, Brand first saw the back of everyone's heads, the staff all transfixed in one direction. Where the curtain of stars had been, now there was a massive alien ship hovering in the earth's outer atmosphere. From their perspective it looked like a central construct from which protruded four forward pointing limbs. Just by eyeball estimation, it seemed to be about five-times the size of the PEAK.

Abigail looked down into her travel mug, and wondered if she had decided to add a little 'Irish' this morning and forgotten about it. Looking up again, the ship was still there.

"Somebody wanna tell me what a big-ass alien mothership is doing outside my window?"

"There was a portal, Director Brand." One of the female staffers sputtered out. "It just opened up and that thing came through!"

"A portal?" Brand said incredulously. "Another god-damn portal!"

"The energy signature is different, Ma'am." Agent Stevenson called out, hunched over his own workstation. A wire-frame model of the ship rotating on his pop-up display, a box next to it streaming through images. "This one is from our side of things. Running the ship through our database now."

Rising from her seat, Abigail downed the last of her coffee in one gulp, set the cup down and went into command mode.

"Get the FERG warmed up, but DO NOT initiate it!" She barked, pointing to the two staffers manning the controls for the Focused Energy Rail Gun.

"Contact SHIELD, tell them to start mobilizing forces and calling in all their super-friends! Get the WSC on the line and tell them we have a priority 1 alert! And get all external turrets pointed in that thing's direction!"

Agents began scattering about the bridge, getting defense systems activated, making contact with liaisons on Earth, and trying to analyze any data about the mysterious ship they could.

Brand took out her phone, turned it sideways, and snapped a picture of the ship. She attached the photo to a message to Nick Fury, adding the text: ' _we have visitors.'_

"We have a hit!" Stevenson exclaimed. Their database of extraterrestrial craft was largely thanks to the X-Men's diplomatic relations with the Shi'ar Empire providing them with some of their generic intelligence on other known space-faring races.

"What am I looking at?" The Director demanded, striding over to him.

"Chitauri, Ma'am." He stepped aside so she could examine the data herself. "A battle cruiser."

 **A wild cry went up from the depths of the Chitauri ship,** the ends of the protruding arms yawning. From the top two arms the bays opened to unleash dozens of smaller, manta ray looking transport ships. From the bottom two arms, came pods of the Chitauri leviathan war beasts, serpentine creatures as long as three city blocks and plated in armor. Both fleets moving in tandem towards the planet's surface.

 **EARTH**

 **Later**

"The PEAK has been disabled?" Nick Fury asked into his phone. Hustling through the halls of the Triskelion, On the other end of the line was his right-hand, Assistant Director Maria Hill who was on the ground at the Insight Helicarrier facility. "How'd the hell they do that?"

"It's some kind of stasis field." accessing a SHIELD satellite with real-time feed, she gazed hard at the image of the dagger-like platform engulfed in a green sphere. "It's disabled their comms, and shut down their defense systems, it's our luck Director Brand managed to transmit her warning in time. Though her sending it was probably what got their attention in the first place, the Chitauri were just too late."

"Well thank god for small favors. Listen, Hill, I'm on my way to talk with the WSC right now, what I want you to do, is get those Helicariers ready to take off as soon as I'm done."

"You got it boss." Maria acknowledged. "How about the other one?"

"That's what I'm gonna sort out right now." Fury clicked his phone off just as he pushed open a door that seemingly led into a pocket dimension of darkness.

"As you may be aware, Nick." The stern voice of the Texan began. Columns of holographic people streamed down from the ceiling of the room in a bluish light. Fury entered the center of the encirclement. "I'm sure we all have very urgent matters to attend to."

"I'm sure you all do, and I don't wanna take up any more of our time doing this than I have to." Looking from one WSC member to another, Director Fury ran through a short list of events.

"As you know, the Chitauri forces are hitting us very hard. The Avengers are holding their own here in New York. The X-Men have established a beachhead in Washington D.C. where SHIELD forces are trying to retake the capitol. Even the new HAMMER Sentinels are doing a good enough job, but there just isn't enough of them to go around."

"Our forces are stretched very thin, Director, we get your point." The British woman cut in. "What do you need from us?"

"Insight." Nick answered, before waving his hand. "Not advice, the project. I want to put the new Helicarriers in the fight, they have the firepower to take on the carrier ships, the fighters, and the walkers. I can have them in the air within 20 minutes."

The Russian figure raised his hand. "And what about the mothership? How do you propose to deal with that?"

 **AREA 51**

 **GROOM LAKE, NEVADA**

The facility was in full motion as alarm klaxons and industrial machinery made the hanger nearly deafening. Maintenance workers rushed along catwalks, detaching cables and making sure nothing would be in the way of the launch. In the center of all the activity, the silent cyborg stood motionless. Today was the day Gigan would live again.

Agents Quartermain and Marion themselves hurried along up to the control bridge, where Otto Octavius was already in the process of bringing all the systems online.

"I just got off the horn with A.D. Hill." Clay informed her. "Insight Helicarriers are already en route from Alamogordo. They've already blown a few Chitauri fighters and walkers to bits. The red beam tech those boys adapted from the monster really do the trick, none of our conventional weaponry is penetrating their armor."

Marion smiled. "Then the Gigan should be able to cut through them and take out the mothership. Provided he listens to the little voice telling him what to do."

"Of all the voices you could have in your head…" Quartermain shuddered. "I hope Fury's right about him being able to control that thing."

"He'd better be." She snarled.

The command center, in stark contrast to everything outside, was a place of order and precision. Much like with the titan, all activity centered around Otto Octavius. He stood at the helm of a semi-circle of control panels, focused on a computer screen in front of him while his arms simultaneously manipulated panels to his left and right. Wearing a long double-breasted pale olive lab coat, he looked all the part of someone about to throw a switch and bring the dead back to life.

When Quartermain and Marion entered the room, the first thing they saw was the doctor's body bisecting the dark eye of the cycloptic cyborg.

"How's it looking Doc?" Clay asked.

"If you'll pardon the emotion, Agent Quartermain, I feel almost orgasmic. I'm almost finished triple-checking protocols for rules of engagement, identification of hostiles, collateral damage aversion, and assault capabilities of the Helicarriers. I will be finished momentarily, then, we launch!"

Marion came around the opposite side of the control panel, setting her hand on the rim of the machine. She recoiled however when she felt a creeping presence move over it, and saw the spider-droid crawling towards its master.

"You should get a leash for that thing Octavius."

"You know I gave it a thought." He said, taking Pulpo in one of his writhing arms and setting in on his left shoulder. "But he has no neck around which to place the collar."

The eye of the droid spun around to linger on her for a few seconds before rotating away. Marion felt a shiver go up her neck. She was trying to massage the revulsion from her flesh when her phone began buzzing, and slipping it out of her pocket, saw a text from a person designated simply as 'X'. The message itself was short: ' _Hostiles approaching your location, advise?'_

Glancing up to make sure Quartermain was still more interested in Otto's work than what she was doing, Marion quickly responded. _'CM',_ a shorthand for ' _continue mission'._

At the same moment she pressed the send button, a window popped-up on the main control panel, overlapping everything underneath it. The video was a satellite feed of current Chitauri positions, using red dots to plot them on a live bird's eye view of their section of Nevada. More windows branched off of it, displaying models of the incoming enemy forces. Converging on the base was a multitude of the transport carriers, the insectoid resembling air fighters, and the lanky-legged walkers.

"It appears I am not the only one so eager to welcome our new agent back to the land of the living." Octavius cooed. "And with such succinct timing, we are ready to launch."

He raised a hand towards one of the technicians. "Open the roof."

The ceiling of the hanger split in half, daylight pouring in from above to bath the monster, gleaming off its spotless armor.

"Observe, agents." Otto lifted a headset bearing a microphone boom from the consol and placed it around his head with the somberness of a royal crown, closing his eyes and inhaling as he set it on, opening them aging with a dramatic exhale.

"Since it would take several brains acting in unison to manipulate the cyborg at combat speed, I have elected to merely give command directives, and let its natural fighting ability carry them out. All I need do, is issue the activation command."

 **On a nearby ridgeline,** a section of desert camouflage netting was staked between two rocky outcroppings. Peeking out from between the shreds of fabric, a suppressor on the similarly patterned barrel of a sniper rifle. Laying in the concealment's shade, the burly figure of Brock Rumlow kept his eye focused behind the telescopic sight, beads of sweat rolling out from under the black mask.

Crossbones grunted when he witnessed a mountain breaking apart down the middle, a flock of birds scattering from the plume of dust that arose. Moving on either side of him, two Chitauri walkers crested the ridgeline.

" **All stations prepare for activation."** At the sound of the voice over the facility's loudspeakers, all crewmembers hurried out of the hanger's main bay. They disappeared into doorways that closed behind them, two layers of solid steel doors a foot thick, designed to withstand the blast of an intercontinental ballistic missile taking off. Or failing that, the propulsion back draft of a giant alien cyborg

"Let the world stand in awe of the superior scientific genius of Otto Octavius! I who makes slaves of the war-waging colossi! Now I command you!" The Doctor raised his arms, the tentacles behind him curling upwards. Still clinging to his shoulder, Pulpo's eye narrowed.

"GIGAN…!"

Agent Marion looked into the monster's vacant optic, waiting to see if her years of patience and restraining the urge to drive an ice pick through Quartermain's face were about to pay off.

Otto stared deep into visor on the other side of the pane, the breath hanging on his lips.

"RISE!"

For several seconds, everything seemed frozen in time, nothing moving, no one daring to blink for fear of missing the magic moment.

When the bright red light spread across Gigan's eye, it bathed them all in its crimson sight.


	2. Agent Gigan pt2: I'm a War Machine

# **PART 2:**

 **-I'M A WAR MACHINE-**

 _Life. It can be a fragile thing. It can mean different things to different beings. For some, it is a transient event in a rapid cycle of reproduction and death. For others an endless horizon, before which existed nothing, after which will come nothing. To some it is the window of time for them to stamp their name in the annals of history, remembered for the ages as the greatest, or find themselves condemned by generations unborn._

 _For many, life without freedom is not life at all._

 _For Gigan, life, is to serve, and to serve the Will, that is all life is._

"Do cyborgs dream of electric sheep?" Agent Quartermain said aloud, his face awash in the crimson light that saturated the control room. On the opposite side of the window, the glowing visor of the space monster staring back at him. Unlike all the months when he had known it was just a burnt-out bulb, dim and empty. Now he felt the unblinking eye upon him, a terrifying, alien intelligence contemplating things he could not imagine.

In the climax of all his efforts, Otto Octavius was speechless. He stood stupefied, like a deer in headlights. The words he had planned to say quivered on his lips, the motor skills to articulate them temporarily overcome by a sense of awe. Shadows casting off his body stretched across the wall behind, a silhouette surrounded by the writhing tentacles in a sea of red.

Perhaps it was the years of living such a jaded, detached life. Perhaps the hundreds of identities she had assumed had numbed her ability to be surprised by much. But as the monster's light bore into her, it filled Mystique with a sensation of scrutiny that seemed to bypass the mask of Claire Marion and expose her naked self to its cold, dispassionate inspection. The corners of her eyes twitched in revulsion as her teeth chattered against each other.

Despite the composition and appearance of the single optic, Gigan could see and sense far more than what his tiny observers could. Multiple spectrums, infrared, ultraviolet, electromagnetic, x-ray, and several more bands, three of which currently unknown to mankind, all processed simultaneously, compositing data on the beings before him. Proximity sensors as well compiled in his mind a total image of his surroundings, creating an omnidirectional field of vision. But there was something lacking…

 _What is the Will? Where… where is the Will?_

It was the minute movements of Pulpo on the skin of his neck that finally stirred Otto from his state. He shook his head to dispel the haze, blinking a few times to deal with the glare.

"The Chitauri, Gigan, destroy the Chitauri!"

Images flashed in Gigan's mind, recordings and schematics of the different Chitauri vehicles, weapons and vulnerabilities, every bit of information the Earth had was instantaneously recalled. More importantly, he knew what he should do.

 _Serve the Will._

Gigan's beak and pincers opened wide to allow an inorganic shriek of acknowledgement, inciting the humans to take a step or two back. If the creature's own capabilities weren't enough, his connection to the Insight network gave it access to real time satellite data, television and internet traffic, and in the span of a few seconds, the cyborg was aware of every known Chitauri location on the planet.

 _Serve the Will._

The framework of Gigan's wings flexed back and forth, making small adjustments. Then without any notable effort, Gigan rose straight up in the hanger, ascending into the sky above.

Marion and Quartermain stepped beside Octavius as they craned their necks to follow the monster's exit, mouths agape.

"You know Otto…" Claire muttered. "If this thing goes bad, we could be unleashing something just as bad as the Chitauri."

"An appreciable fear, Agent Marion, but one I have accounted for." Touching his hand to the window pane, Octavius tapped his fingers on the glass, each touch being met by an illumination. Doubling as a computer screen, a series of control menus appeared across the window, one of which showed a diagram of Gigan's head.

"Should the worst happen, I can bring him down."

 **Crossbones stared through his scope,** taken off guard by the swift exit of the monster. He was not often surprised, but as the gigantic form flew out he quickly transition into a kneeling position in order to keep the thing in his sights. Shifting the barrel while keeping his cheek to the stock, the tracking was intercepted by the long legs of the Chitauran stalkers striding across the desert plane. Confident that his position had not been compromised, Rumlow knew it would be a dicey thing to stay put for what was about to happen.

Gigan gracefully lowered himself into the sand of the dry lakebed, deliberately drawing the attention of the Chitauri forces converging on the facility. Though his eye could not itself see the opponents arrayed against him, he was perfectly aware of where they were, in all directions. Posturing to pan his optic from left to right, the enemy numbering fourteen in all. The stalkers where half his height, the leviathans a little longer, the carrier ships big enough to span his chest. Gigan offered a sharp squawk, and that's when the destruction began.

A group of three stalkers fired their frontal beam weapons, bluish streams of plasma that tore through the ground as they converged on their single target. The cyborg was off his feet just as the beams reached him, lunging forward at his opponents. The stalkers could not adjust their trajectory in time before Gigan was on top of them.

The tail claw stabbed into the body of the center stalker, piercing the vehicle's armor like a knife through an orange. Clutching the pod in its spiked grip, the stalker was tossed aside and carved a gully into the dirt until it exploded. Pivoting in the air, Gigan cut the legs out from under another with a single stroke of his scythe, following through with another slice that cleaved a great portion of the body.

The third stalker was still turning to face its foe when a metal foot spike was punted into its underbelly, sinking in with a grotesque sound of evisceration. Gigan kicked his leg to shake off the incapacitated machine.

 _Eleven remain. Serve the Will._

From one of the manta-like carrier ships, came a sphere of green energy generated by the two prongs in the front. Gigan put up an arm to deflect the shot, but it exploded against his metal, and the force was more than his data had indicated. Thrown off balance for a moment, another shot struck him in the back, forcing him to stumble forward, directly into the path of the five oncoming fighters moving in formation. They fired their own light blue ballista in coordination, raining down around the cyborg with tremendous destructive power.

A storm of dust and sand consumed Gigan amidst the detonations, shrouding him even as his piercing wail cut through it.

"He's getting overwhelmed." Agent Quartermain said, shaking his head as he watched they watched the battle play out on the window, courtesy of the real-time satellite feed.

Octavius raised an eyebrow to glance at the creature's vitals, and seeing no change in the readings, clasped his hands behind his back.

"Merely recalibrating."

The two Chirauri carriers prepared to fire again, energy spheres manifesting and growing between their frontal prongs. But as the dust began to clear, Gigan was gone.

Reappearing directly behind the carriers in the blink of an eye, Gigan's precision red beam sliced through one of them just as quickly. The second was skewered with a scythe stabbing down into it. With the other arm, Gigan launched the grapple hooks, capturing two of the fighters before they could circle back around. He retracted the lines to reel them in with a hard yank, and pitched the carrier into the center of their formation. When the disabled craft had reached the remaining fighters, the primary optic beam was fired, dispersing into a cluster-bomb that engulfed the Chitauri in a storm of explosions.

The hooked fighters came in fast. Gigan swung his arm around, slinging them in a wide arc, and concluding in a thunderous slam that left the ships in a crater. The grapples finished recoiling into their launch mechanisms with a metallic clink.

A new cry of feral hatred filled the air, the four Leviathans who had held back to let the war crafts take the brunt of the assault, now advanced with savage intent. Without turning in their direction, Gigan was already calculating their trajectory of attack, along with his counter-strike. Two compartments where his pectoral muscles would be opened, unleashing a pair of razor disks into the sky.

As ferocious as they might have been, against the engineered lethality of the flying buzzsaws, the Chitauri armor was no protection. Before they could reach their foe, the alien serpents fell to the ground in a shower of carnage, blood and viscera raining down on the desert sand. Then the bodies, cleaved at odd angles, snarling faces twisted in their final expressions of terror, hit the earth.

Surrounded by the harvest of his butchery, Gigan loosed a shrill chirp as he turned to receive the disks back into his chest.

"You were saying, Agent Quartermain?" A smug Octavius commented. "As I suspected, the Chitauri are no match for what the Gigan is capable of. They have come to earth in search of a conquest, only to find an adversary ready to cut them down like wheat in the field!"

Clay and Claire exchanged an uneasy set of glances. "Glad to uh, be proven wrong." He said.

"His next target should be the mothership." Marion interjected, refocusing on the mission. "We have to shut down their source of reinforcements."

"I agree." Lifting a pair fingers to the microphone to keep it close to his mouth, Otto could hardly contain his joy. "Gigan, destroy the Chitauri mothership."

Craning his head towards the sky, Gigan calculated the most direct route to where the battle cruiser was hovering in geosynchronous orbit. His sails unfurled to their full extent and spread apart at 90 degree angles, configuring to allow for maximum speed. Without any outward sign of propulsion, the cyborg was streaking through the air, steadily accelerating, a sonic cone forming around his head and becoming narrower.

On the window display in the control room, they watched a model of their soldier's flight path spawn and zoom out to encompass the curvature of the Earth and the Chitauri ship. In between them was a line of dashes, a red dot moving along it at a fairly rapid pace.

"Jesus, how fast is that thing?" Marion asked.

This question at last seemed to break Otto's self-satisfied exterior. Flinching at the sound of it being uttered, his tentacles closed in around him protectively.

"The exact mechanism that allows the Gigan to hover and fly still eludes me as of yet. I have ascertained that it is a process that takes place within the wings, but it is a technology that surpasses even my ability to grasp."

As he begrudgingly spoke the last few words, the ends of the metallic arms coiled tightly.

"But, judging by his speed here, I would say that he can reach mach 3 within Earth's atmosphere, and presumably far more in the weightlessness of space."

The assertion of information that he felt confident in seemed to restore some pride to the man. Marion thought it interesting that an egomaniac like Otto was forced to admit something was beyond his intellect. It amused her to watch him squirm under the shadow of those mysterious superior minds.

Soaring through the layers of the atmosphere faster than a rocket-assisted space shuttle, the far more stream-lined Gigan encountered no resistance as he approached the Chitauri mothership. The invaders apparently not anticipating the possibility of any weapon the Earthlings could bring to bear being able to reach them.

From the top of the ship's four extension arms energy cannons swiveled in place, locking onto the target. Each of them fired at once, the blue spears of light coming one after another in mechanical succession. Gigan dodged each of them in turn, gliding around their path of travel as smoothly as running water. A second volley was launched, this one coordinated to converge on a single anticipatory point. The blasts and the cyborg were on a collision course, and just as the points met, Gigan disappeared in a collapsing star of matter, allowing the explosion to occur in the spot he might have occupied. He reappeared further along his original trajectory, still striving onward.

Within the dark confines of the alien ship, the long-faced Chitauri soldiers watched on their own monitors the rapidly advancing cyborg. In their inhuman tongues they argued about that to do, not understanding what kind of threat the monster posed. Hampered by confusion and ignorance, they decided to receive their guest with the customary belligerence of their race. One of the bays opened, and spewed out a small squadron of carrier ships and fighters. They moved in force, preparing to assail the enemy with wave after wave of attack.

Gigan saw them coming, calculating their speed and trajectory relative to his own, data lines appearing between them to represent spacial calculations. The direct path of travel to the open bay of the Chitauri ship was now crowded with several hostiles, which suited him perfectly.

He extended his arms out to his side, each blade facing either up or down. Then the chest saw began whirring, reaching a blur of motion within seconds. Slowly at first, for a few moments Gigan began to rotate as he glided forward, gaining momentum the closer he got to the Chitauri. The acceleration from there was effortless, his whole body becoming a single tornado of spinning blades. It was an unorthodox countermeasure, but Gigan was an unorthodox weapon.

The Chitauri ships fired their beam ahead of them, the rays deflecting off the armor moving too fast for the shots to penetrate. Gigan cut through the attack, sending sparks and slivers of light in every direction, like a comet soaring across the sky in a brilliant show.

It was like feeding tomatoes into a blender when Gigan finally broke through the attacks and collided with the Chitauri forces. A carrier crashed head-on with the cyborg, its subsequent evisceration taking only seconds as Gigan's cranial spike ripped it to shreds. Other ships suffered much less gruesome fates as the scythes carved into them, slicing through their hulls with great savage gashes.

Passing through the wave of ships with all the grace of a butcher, Gigan straightened out, extending his arms forward as he ceased rotating. Like this he dived into the open bay of the Chitauri mothership with a piercing cry, disappearing inside amidst a flash of sparks and fire.

In the control bridge, the Chitauri recoiled in horror at the sight of the monster breaching the ship's integrity. Scrambling to coordinate internal defenses, they were thrown off balance by a series of explosions that rocked the innards of the station.

 **The constraining green orb of light** surrounding the Peak dissipated, freeing the instillation from the binding effects. Overhead lights in the control bridge slowly powered back to life, prompting the crew members to blink in the sudden illumination, glancing about at each other with confusion and caution. Several of the staffers reporting that the various communication systems were operational again.

Her own vision protected by the impenetrable shading of her glasses, SWORD Director Abigail Brand stood still in the center of the room, staring out of the newly unobstructed windows. Through them she saw the mammoth Chitauri craft in the same spot it had been in before everything was blacked out. Now however, she saw a series of explosions erupting from the ship's hull, fire and debris rising in what one would swear was a deliberate path.

"Get on the horn to SHIELD!" She called out, her voice simultaneously hushing the workstation of murmurs and restoring order. "Tell them the mothership is going up in flames!"

Another explosion preceded a thick red beam lancing out into space from somewhere inside the main body of the Chitauri ship. Gigan emerged from the rift in the hull, his chest saw still running, the surrounding area splattered by dark oils. He cried out as he sent another crimson beam raking across the exterior, creating a streak of destruction that spread in all directions.

 **Down on the Earth** , in the Area 51 division of Project Insight, Octavius and the SHIELD agents continued to watch the window display where the display of the alien ship became surrounded by small data boxes.

"With their mothership disabled..." Otto observed. "The Chitauri's invasion force will be swiftly winnowed down until none remain."

A new video window popped-up adjacent to the depiction of the orbital conflict, this one featuring the stern visage of Natasha Romanov. Red hair plastered to her face, the sound of battle could be heard, behind her the long avenue of civilian cars along the street upturned and savaged by the fight.

"Whatever you did to the mothership, Octavius, the Chitauri in New York are falling back." Flashing across the street in the background of her feed, Iron Man sent a pair of palm blasts after a hovering chariot that carried a pair of the alien soldiers.

"A squad of the new Hammer Sentinels just arrived, and I hear Army and Marine units are holding the capitol with the help of the X-Men. Though this would all be a lot easier if we had the Hulk or Thor around."

"We must all do what we can, Agent Romanov." Otto said with a tight smile. "The Gigan is merely performing his own part of the overall strategy. I'm sure we are none the less for our lack of the Asgardian or Dr. Banner's monster."

Black Widow turned away from the feed and fired her wrist stingers at something out of sight. "Still, I feel like they should be here."

A Chitauri solder coming into view behind her noticed the Avenger, raising its weapon in her direction. Before it could fire however, an arrow struck the power core, the weapon blowing up in the soldier's face. The explosion at last drew her attention, and she spun around in time to see Hawkeye come running in to deliver a high kick to the creature's head as it staggered back.

"I shall leave you to your work." One of Otto's tentacles tapped the glass to close the feed, restoring the entire pane to Gigan's assault on the mothership.

 **Flying low over the hull** , Gigan stabbed his right scythe into the metal, carving through it as he circumnavigated the ship like an apple peeler. The other three launch bays opened, spewing out the remaining carriers, fighter ships, and war beasts in a final desperate attempt to fight off the bladed assailant before all was lost.

Gigan landed on the surface of the craft, his feet sinking into the hull as his internal gravity generators pressed his body weight against the ship. He could see the hordes of Chitauri enemies looping back to come and overwhelm him with sheer numbers. His optic reticule filled with target designations, more than four dozen of them in all.

Satisfied that all enemy targets had been locked, Gigan unleashed his newly acquired firepower.

A storm of red beams rained upwards from the Earth, peppering the Chitauri ranks mercilessly and decimating their numbers within seconds. The wails of the Leviathans lost in the vacuum as their bodies twisted and jerked in agony from the slaughter.

 **The entire time** Gigan had been in combat, he had been simultaneously maneuvering the Insight Helicarriers into position to provide support. Going as high into the atmosphere as their design would let them, the SHIELD craft bristled with cannons, all poised to fire their shots even higher, the monster serving as a forward observer to guide their continual barrage. Adapted from the technology of the Gigan, the man-made red beams were not quite as powerful as the original inspiration, but when loosed by the dozen it made little difference. Under the hail of fire, the Chitauri ships that managed to make it through then faced the cyborg itself.

Gigan unleashed the razor disks once more, directing them in long swooping arcs through the cloud of explosions and shrapnel. He turned his head to fire a crimson beam off to his right, a carrier ship obliterated in green hellfire. Then he found another one, destroying that too.

As explosions rumbled within the mothership beneath him, Gigan held off the Chitauri forces. The disks returned to his chest, cutting through a leviathan that was making a bloody-mouthed dive in his own death throws. The top half of the beast floated by Gigan's head, droplets of blood freezing in a trail behind it. With a casual wave of his arm, he knocked the half away to survey the field of debris and carnage. None of them remained.

Gigan drove his left scythe into the hull of the Chitauri ship, as if he were sawing through a tin of food. Exposing the inner mechanics, his single optic began to glow an intense red, accumulating energy into a single over-powered discharge. The crimson fury was unleashed at last, burning through the ship like lava through ice. After a few moments the beam erupted out of the bottom of the ship, having gone straight through to the other side.

The Chitauri mothership shuddered from a massive explosion that tore the lower quarter of the craft apart, sending one of the bays adrift.

Gigan leapt away from the scene of rapidly intensifying destruction, distancing himself from a volcanic plume of fire that sprung up where he had been standing.

" **Now that the primary threat has been eliminated** , I think it's time the world got a taste of what our new weapon can do." Octavius tapped on the glass of the window, bringing-up a map of the United States, with red spots signifying the locations of Chitauri forces.

"You're going to send him into civilian populations?" Agent Claire Marion asked, crossing her arms. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I am certain." The doc responded, completely confident of his logic. "It must be publicly demonstrated that the cyborg is under our total control. When they see him purging their cities of the Chitauri menace, they will hail him as a hero."

But Agent Quartermain wasn't so optimistic. "Sending the thing after an alien ship is one thing, but Fury hasn't signed off on any domestic deployments."

"If you feel the need to go through the proper bureaucratic channels, then by all means, Agent." Otto huffed, adjusting his glasses. "I will tell the Chitauri destroying Los Angeles and Houston to come back later when we've got our paperwork sorted out."

"It is kind of an emergency situation, Clay." Marion nudged his shoulder. "Not waiting around for some stamp of approval is exactly what Nick Fury would do."

Clay sighed, dragging a hand down across his face, thinking over the matter. "Where would you send him first?''

 **HOLLYWOOD**

Two Chitauri stalkers reached the summit of the mountain where the iconic sign rested, facing outward to the plane below. The city itself was enthralled in chaos, buildings in various states of unscheduled demolition, people either fleeing in terror, looting what they could carry, or celebrating the end of the world. More stalkers strode through the streets, hammering the ground with their seismic attacks by sending blasts of blue energy straight downwards. Each shot created tremors that leveled whole blocks at a time, leaving waves of concrete and asphalt where flat ground had been. There being simply not enough heroes to go around, some cities, even large ones had to go without any substantial aid outside of whatever military forces could be dispensed.

As it was, a unit of California National Guardsmen were moving block to block trying to clear civilians not just from the path of the alien vehicles, but also for the forthcoming artillery strike from the battery of M777 howitzers emplaced outside the city. A Staff Sergeant heading a squad of soldiers in body armor and bearing their M4 rifles, dashed up to the corner of an otherwise crushed building, tilting his head around the corner. Seeing none of the enemy ground forces, he gestured for those behind him to come forward, a combination of his own troops shepherding several terrified residents.

With his group moved into position, the squad leader advanced, weapon at the high-ready as he rounded the corner and tried to find a way to get back to their armored personnel carrier. He was about to cross another street when the foot of a Chitauri stalker stepped in front of him, the tremor almost knocking him off his feet. The soldier behind him stumbled back, braced only by the body of a father carrying his daughter. A dozen gasps went up a second before gunfire erupted from the rest of the squad, their rounds ricocheting off the superior alien armor.

The belly of the stalker opened to expose the seismic cannon, the aperture glowing with blue power. Before it could fire, a thin red beam sliced through the body, bisecting it in a split second. The two halves fell away from one another, taking what seemed like minutes to hit the ground as the soldiers flinched from the sudden shock.

A shrill cry rung out as the shadow of the cyborg fell over Tinseltown, it was met by the wail of the Chitauri soldiers who knew to fear and hate the one-eyed monster.

The two stalkers that had been about to trample the Hollywood sign tumbled down the hillside wreathed in flames, each of them missing parts of carapace. Above the newly tarred white letters of the sign, Gigan perched, the city laid out before him. From that vantage he could spot the Chitauri forces still ravaging through the streets; several more stalkers, three carriers, a dozen fighters, and a few hundred infantry.

It took all of five minutes for the cityscape to be cleared of hostile vehicles, crippled and eviscerated alien craft littered the roads and draped over the corners and rooftops of building, laying in heaps where they had crashed in craters of rubble.

A group of Chitauran soldiers scampering along cracked asphalt were incinerated in a firestorm of red bursts. When the smoke cleared, Gigan's eye examined the spot where they had been, verifying the elimination of his targets.

 **The sound of the monster's inorganic screech** was by now a sweet song to Otto Octavius, the sound of his monster, his instrument of will. Every time he heard it, it was another testament to his success, every Chitauri warship that fell, proof of his genius. The twitching of the spider-droid on his shoulder reminded him that the alien spider had actually done most of the work that was impossible for human technology to accomplish. But that was a small matter to Octavius, a trifle detail, the repair droids themselves only tools.

With the skies newly cleared, a fleet of drones were able to be deployed, allowing SHIELD to survey the region for damage and rescue efforts. One such UAV was over Hollywood, relaying footage of places that had produced countless disaster movies that were now disaster zones themselves. The feed was playing alongside the topographical representation of Gigan's position on the wide window display.

The Chitauri forces in the area had seemingly been destroyed, leaving the military and first responders the space needed to go in and secure the city.

"What city shall we liberate next?" Otto asked, supremely pleased with himself.

Agent Quartermain was staring into his SHIELD-issued phone, absorbed by the unending flood of updates.

"The two Sentinels in Las Vegas have been downed."

"They had Sentinels in Vegas?" Marion asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

"Yeah, some of those high-rolling casino owners pooled some money together to invest in some extra security for the city. Not just because it's a prize pig for some super-powered prick to try and knock-over, but there was also that time Iron Man and Hulk smashed through half the city."

Clay made a sweeping motion with his hand over the screen of the device, and cast it towards the window. Two images appeared on the pane, each of them featuring a Sentinel with a painted tuxedo on their armor. One was gripping the handle of an enormous slot machine, the other leaning against the side of a building with its head tilted down under a black fedora.

"As you can see, they also made for interesting props."

 **LAS VEGAS**

One of the bespoke Sentinels lay reclined over Caesar's Palace, its head thrown back in the blazing mid-day sun, an arm missing. The structure underneath it crushed by the weight of the machine tumbling onto it.

What remained might have been salvageable had the flaming husk of a Chitauri carrier not slammed into the Sentinel. All three constructs went up in a furious explosion, a pillar of fire and smoke that dwarfed everything around it. The casino was obliterated, dust and debris falling like rain in the aftermath. Striding through the cloud of haze, Gigan screeched. A pair of fighters sped past him, trying to escape and regroup with others. The cyborg's visor illuminated briefly, casting a crimson river that spread into multiple points and burst in a cacophony of flares reminiscent of World War 2 bombings. Both fighters managed to emerge from the chaos though, gliding on a steady downward angle until crashing into a strip of establishments riddled with neon lighting.

His paltry enemy dispatched, Gigan paused in stride, swiveling his head to look at the remains of the Sentinel.

" **What is he doing?" Octavius cursed** , surprised by the sudden appearance of alien lettering flashing across his screen. It came in what looked like haphazard blocks, like pieces in a _Tetris_ game and just as random. He taped a few digital buttons on his panel, deliberately at first, then with greater frustration. "He's not acknowledging my commands!"

Now Gigan's whole body turned in the robot's direction with a curious chirp, taking a step towards it.

"I think he's analyzing it." Observed Marion, narrowing her eyes. "Some earlier programming resurfacing upon contact with foreign technology?"

She glanced to her right to see if Quartermain was taking an interest, but saw that he had stepped to the back of the room, a finger stuck into his left hear, his phone raised to the right.

 _Tattling to Fury no doubt._ She muttered in her mind.

The cycloptic cyborg came to a stop just two paces from where the former mechanical bouncer lay, still transfixed. Suddenly he moved his left foot laterally and gestured with a splaying of his arms, dropping the left appendage horizontally at the belly, while conversely raising the right one vertically. Gigan issued a series of wails and sharp barks, continuing to encircle the Sentinel warily.

Octavius tilted his head, "This is not a technological reaction." He realized. "This is instinct."

"He's posturing for some kind of communication." Agent Marion gasped, fascinated. "We need a zoologist to see this."

Gigan clanged his blades together in a rapid switch, the right one now dropped, and the left held up.

"He seems confused by the lack of response. Perhaps he does not understand that the machine is no longer functional?" Otto cradled his chin in his hand. The metal tendril of the droid on his shoulder brushed up against his cheek, drawing his attention for a moment.

"Yeah, this is all very interesting-" Agent Quartermain interjected, putting his phone back in his pocket. "But the Chitauri are on the ropes, without the mothership to provide reinforcements and command, they're scattering and being destroyed piecemeal. But, CONUS _[*Continental United States_ ] they're trying to make their last stand is at the Port Arthur Refinery in Texas."

"That's the largest Godamn refinery in the country!" It was less the concern of Claire Marion that Port Arthur was vital to the energy manufacturing of the United States, than it was that a major HYDRA nerve center operated out of the massive facility.

"The military is doing their best to corral them towards the water, they've even conscripted a few Sentinels out of Houston, but it seems the Chitauri are determined to scorch the earth in the wake of their retreat." Clay paused, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before continuing. "The Council wants the Gigan sent to be the hammer to the military's anvil, and smash the Chitauri between them."

"That could get really messy." Marion said, biting the corner of a fingernail. "The refinery could still go up in an inferno if some stray rounds hit the right spot."

"That was also Fury's objection." Her partner sighed. "But the Council's position is that even if it does, then it'll take the aliens with it. Their objective is to move it away from population centers."

"And the Gigan?" Octavius asked. "In the…unlikely event he should be damaged?"

"Fury didn't mention the council making any particular distinction when it came to which aliens got smoked."

They could hear the whine of the scientist's claws tightening, the idea of the WSC so casually willing to throw their project under the bus did not sit very well with man who had taken it on as his life's greatest work.

"Then we shall have to proceed very carefully then." He steamed through his teeth.

Otto dismissed the curious display of extraterrestrial script to a minimized window for later examination, the entire thing already saved. Then he swiped his hand from right to left, summoning a map of the United States that featured up-to-date locations of known Chitauri forces. As Agent Quartermain had informed them, there was indeed a cluster of red dots moving in a south-easterly direction in the Texan region bordering the Gulf of Mexico.

Octavius magnified the particular section, and highlighted the Chitauri signatures, designating them as priority targets.

"Gigan, proceed to new coordinates." He ordered.

Gigan flinched, as if stung by something. An undulating chitter voiced his displeasure at having his investigation curtailed. He flexed his right arm, still focused on the downed Sentinel, but his body shivered as if his movement was being restrained.

"Proceed to new targets!" Otto commanded once more.

This time the cyborg screeched, like a cat being gripped by its tail, irritated but unable to countermand the overpowering force acting upon him. Finally, Gigan put his arms to his side, and ascended into the sky faster than a rocket.

Octavius smiled tightly, content his control was supreme over the creature's will.

 **PORT ARTHUR, TEXAS**

A series of explosions sent earth and twisted metal into the sky, thunderous pounding provided by artillery units of the United States Marine Corps, Army, and Texas National Guard. The white phosphorus rounds proving to be an effective deterrent, even if they didn't actually damage the alien armor the Chitauri retreated from the substance. It was raining in the southwest of Texas, and the water falling from the sky transformed the powder into a sticky paste that refused to wash away from where it settled.

A crack of lighting contested for audible supremacy, a blinding flash heralding the sky-sundering boom, briefly illuminating the Chitauri stalkers and carriers moving steadily through the evening.

Likewise unveiled by the momentary series of bolts, Gigan waited at the perimeter of the refinery. His glowing eye stood out in the shadows of the storm clouds, a sinister lighthouse drawing ships to their destruction.

 **"A scene of massive destruction here in Port Arthur…"** The female anchor's voice played over the scenes of the battle that took place hours earlier. Smash-cuts of the cyborg cutting through the Chitauri one after the other, scenes of Gigan standing alone on a battlefield of destroyed fuel tanks and flames up to his hip. "The monster once feared as part of a trans-dimensional invasion has now been made into a weapon on behalf of mankind."

A carrier drove itself into Gigan's left side, gripping onto him with its frontal prongs, shocking him with its energy like a giant flying taser. Unfortunately, in the battle of giant flying weapons, it was still pathetically outmatched. Gigan's multi-blade-tipped tail came up behind it and stabbed deeply into the hull. Then, since the appendage on the end was its own gruesome instrument of violence, it began to spin in place, tearing and disemboweling everything inside.

The top of the carrier burst apart from an explosion welling up from within, the ship drifting away from Gigan pitched comically to its right side until it went skidding into a field of inter-connective pipelines.

"As you can see-" The polished voice continued on televisions around the world. "the cyborg, confirmed by SHIELD to be called 'Gigan', made a tenacious stand at the outskirts of the Port Arthur oil refinery plant, acting as a bookend to the advancing American military."

 **In a crowded internet café in Hong Kong** , a throng of Chinese people surrounded a single man's laptop as it sat on the small round table. They looked on in awe at the footage of the monster destroying the invaders war machines. China itself had only a slight experience with Chitauri. After the Battle of Beijing, government officials exercised far less restraint and concern for collateral damage then they might have otherwise.

Parts of Shanghai and Guangzhou no longer existed after select teams of Chinese solders, loyal to their nation beyond compare, braved the peril and moved themselves into positions near concentrations of Chitauri forces. Once there, having sacrificed however many men it took, they detonated a miniature nuclear device. Over a dozen of these counter-strikes took place, eliminating swaths of Chitauran forces. The capitol of Beijing had been spared suffering such devastation only because it had been the first city protected by the strategy before any hostiles had reached it.

The crowd around the computer screen watched with grave concern, most of them remembering very well the terror struck in the nation nearly two years prior when the same monstrosity had been laying their capitol to waste. Now it was going from place to place eradicating a different alien menace, at the command of Earthlings no less.

 **Hardly any less concerned about Gigan's new situation** , a council of Russian military and civil officials sat in a darkened conference room, eyes glued to a flat-screen monitor on the wall.

The sons of the motherland had resorted to a different, and possibly more devastating method of battling the Chitauri. In the wake of the kaiju attacks, the Russians had started manufacturing ammunition designed to penetrate the incredibly resistant hide of the block-busting monsters. Coated in uranium and fired from an array of weapons made to shield the bearer from its effects, these new bullets were successful in piercing the Chitauran armor. Shot from rifles, machine guns, tanks, and even artillery, the uranium rounds also polluted the environment around them, poisoning the land and water.

While confident that they had dealt with the attempted conquest, the fact that the Gigan was now under the command of the American government had them clenching their teeth in anxiety. One of the younger uniformed officers covered his mouth as he leaned forward in his seat, watching Gigan lobotomize a Chitauri carrier as it tried to ram him. A thin beam lancing out from the red gem in his forehead to boil through the ships innards and come out the other side.

 **"Congratulations Fury, the monster seems to be living up to your expectations."** Standing surrounded by the holographic silhouettes of the World Security Council members, SHIELD Director Nick Fury watched the projected news feed of the ongoing battle. A rectangle floated in the darkness before all assembled, its fuzzy borders blending seamlessly from the action into the shadows.

"It's a shame the Helicarriers are not capable of keeping up with him." Came the deep Texan voice.

"That was a logistical consideration we had." Fury remarked, not taking his gaze away from the feed. "Our remote operators are doing a fine job on their own working up the west coast after the Gigan relinquished manual control."

"So we noticed." The British woman said. "San Francisco and Monterey are now cleared for recovery crews to get in without Chitauri threats looming over them."

"The public reaction has also been positive." A Korean man, betrayed only by the accent coming from the vague mask of a person, touched something out of view, and in his place appeared several data windows. In them were continuous feeds of social media platforms in a dozen languages.

"The Gigan is being hailed as a guardian, vanquishing the foreign invaders."

"Not too long ago, Gigan _was_ the foreign invader." Fury spat. "I'll never be surprised by how short people's memories can be."

"Be that as it may director, the results are undeniable." The melodic voice of the Japanese woman sounded the most optimistic Fury thought he had ever heard. "Project Insight has been a successful blunt instrument. The only question remains regarding its capabilities analyzing future threats, which was the original intent of the project."

"The algorithm took a bit of a backseat once we started incorporating technology from the cyborg." Nick explained. "But its development continues and should be ready for beta testing within the month. Octavius was hoping to model it on Gigan's operating system, but the cipher for the alien code remains beyond his grasp."

"All the same, Nick." Said the Texan. "The Gigan has been instrumental in defeating the Chitauri, and the rest of the world sees that. I think it's safe to say that your project has been a resounding success."

Fury dipped his head. "Yeah, let's just hope we don't have to put our trust in that thing to the test too often."

 **Port Arthur remained mostly intact,** technicians having done the best they could on short notice to drain the pipelines of fluids and cutting off access valves. This meant that the loss of the oil in its separate stages was kept to a minimum, and saved the great bulk of the facility from erupting in an apocalyptic conflagration.

The northwest sector of the plant however was a desolation. In stark contrast to the methodical and well-maintained system built by the engineers, the area had been reduced to a wasteland of blackened soil and unrecognizable metal shrapnel, littered with debris and hunks of downed Chitauri bio-mechanical war craft. Pillars of black smoke fumed from multiple spots, dark veins rising up against a grey landscape into polluted clouds.

A stalker, hobbling on three legs desperately tried to backpedal, dragging itself through the rubble like a wounded animal in winter snow. The stump where the limb was severed still trickled with dark green ichor bleeding in continual droplets to leave a trail of the sickly substance behind for the predator to follow.

Gigan's foot came down along the path of blood, the single metal toe marred slightly with black soot. On his right hook, hung a Leviathan, gutted in its underside like a fish, and held aloft for the cyborg to examine it more closely. The creature writhed in pitiful agony, its death-throes being drawn-out to sate the kaiju's curiosity. A rare moment for Gigan to exercise some free-will.

The leviathan mewled weakly, blood bubbling up from its gullet to splatter over its teeth. Gigan stared down at it, raising it slowly closer to his own face. In a sudden lurch, Gigan took the creature's head in his mouth , teeth sinking into the Chitauran armor with ease. The mandible pincers stabbed into either side and delivered a decisive killing strike through flesh and skull, directly into the brain. The wriggling on the scythe came to an abrupt stop, the serpentine body going limp.

Thinking it had managed to escape while the enemy was distracted, the Chitauri stalker turned away to find itself confronted by a trio of HAMMER Tech Sentinels. Clad in armor made to resemble the bulky and menacing gear of SWAT officers, this new generation unlike their forebears were designed for much more than capturing mutants.

The three androids raised their right arms, currently configured into energy cannons, a bright yellow light building in the back of the cavity. All at once they fired, the blasts slamming into the stalker in unison, peeling the armor back and exposing the mass of tissue interlaced with circuitry. The stalker took a few rigid steps back and froze, then, fell over in the direction of its lost limb.

"CHITAURI THREAT, ELIMINATED." The Sentinel in the middle of the formation emitted, a horizontal white bar under its eyes contracting and expanding with each syllable.

Gigan turned his head in the direction of the three robots, releasing the dead leviathan from his beak.

 **"What will it do?"** Agent Marion asked, Quartermain, Octavius, and herself unable to avert their attention from what was to them, a tense situation. "Will they fight?"

But Otto dismissed her worry with a raised hand. "The Sentinels are clearly designated as non-hostiles in his programming, he should ignore them."

 **Sitting by herself in her corporate office** , at the head of a long glass table with the blinds drawn along the wall-to-wall window, Justine Hammer stared at the laptop computer in front of her. She steepled her fingers against her lips, the bangs of her light brown hair drooping forward to create blinders to all else but what she saw.

So far, she was happy with what she had seen of the Sentinels capabilities. They had done a reasonable job combating the Chitauri and showing the public that her machines were well worth the money. The fortuitousness of the alien invasion doing wonders to sell them, which in turn, would help to fund the next generation of HAMMER Sentinels.

 **The Leviathan slipped** from Gigan's arm with a _SCHLOCK_ -ing noise before hitting the ground. It was that sound that drew the Sentinel's attention to the cyborg, the three of them turning in his direction with the synchronicity of a flock of birds. Gigan chirped twice, one short bark followed by a wail. Then he began the same strange dance he had exhibited to the fallen machine in Las Vegas. Slapping the flats of his scythes together twice, then posturing with one pointed down and the other raised, accompanied by a shrill call.

 **"He's doing it again!"** Agent Clay Quartermain exclaimed, hands on his hips. "He's trying to communicate with the damn Sentinels!"

"You said the Gigan is programmed to recognize them as friendlies…" Marion wondered aloud. "But what about their programming? Did Hammer give him the same courtesy?"

 **Gigan stepped to his right in a wide arc** , again presenting the black-clad trio with his queer display.

From the perspective of the Sentinels, the visual of the monster was not considered with any judgment of behavior as strange or normal, rather they were abiding to their current programming of scrutinizing the subject for any sign of being a Chitauri weapon. Putting aside the splatter of blood on Gigan's beak and pincers, after slaughtering dozens of the alien craft, he was now covered in biological residue.

"CHITAURI SIGNATURE DETECTED." The middle Sentinel declared. "ELIMINATE TARGET."

Gigan's gesturing halted suddenly when the androids raised their arm canons and fired.

" **Oh no!"** Otto cried, his fingers scrambling across the window pane to access data windows. "Those HAMMER-TECH tin cans are mistaking him as one of the Chitauri!"

"Can they damage the Gigan?" A fretting Quartermain asked, face wide open in alarm.

Octavius shook his head. "I highly doubt it, but Gigan can rip them to shreds!"

Just as he spoke, the diagnostic windows he had summoned, showing Gigan's vitals and structural integrity glitched, warping into a red filter. Images of the Sentinels then appeared, overlaid by scrolling rows of the same alien text he had seen before. As it rolled on, the outline of the Sentinels was highlighted, Octavius understanding that the programming had just flipped.

 **The barrage of yellow energy blasts** caught Gigan off guard, forcing him to raise an arm as a shield. As the hits bombarded his armor, the conflict between his previous designation of them as non-hostiles, and their present aggression was resolved. In a blink, Gigan disappeared.

Their target vanished from perceptible range, the Sentinels assault ceased, cylindrical heads swiveling in all directions.

"TARGET… ERROR."

Forming a firing line, the androids stood within arm's reach of each other, facing the same direction. A standard configuration for engaging a singular threat.

The small warp in the fabric of space came too quickly for their scanners to register, and just as fast as he had evaporated, Gigan emerged into reality directly behind them.

The Sentinel to the right of center was lifted off its feet by a length of curved scythe bursting out of its chest and holding it aloft, sparks flying out in arcs.

The Sentinel on the left of center hadn't managed to spin its head around before it was clamped onto by the spikes of Gigan's tail, the central spear piercing the cylinder as the surrounding claws pinched to hold it in place.

The middle Sentinel managed to pivot its head in place, coming nearly beak-to-nose with Gigan a second before it was obliterated by a stream of crimson energy from his optic. When the beam ended, only a smoking stump remained.

Gigan gave out a wild shriek as the headless android fell, his upper body bent over and dorsal sails rattling in the overt show of anger.

 **Otto Octavius swallowed a lump,** watching how quickly the multi-million-dollar machines had been utterly neutered. Truthfully, he was in awe of just how seamless the cyborg was in furious battle. His own technological appendages were linked directly to his brain, and was a relatively small example of what were essentially articulate prosthetics. The Gigan was a complete fusion of artificial and organic, and suffered no loss of agility and speed despite the massive scale of operation.

"It's beautiful." He muttered, putting a hand up to his glasses in an absent-minded impulse. "A thing of unearthly grace and sublime efficiency."

"It's an alien Edward Scissorhands that shoots lasers out of its face." Quartermain complained to Marion out one side of his mouth.

 **The Sentinel's head crumpled into a jagged lump of twisted metal,** Gigan's tail claw wrenching the rounded cylinder from the shoulders with a savage ferocity. Once the head was free, the tail pulled back and whipped itself across the android's chest, the blades along the crest of the appendage slicing through the armor and carving a ghastly wound through its innards.

With only the one was left, Gigan ascended several dozen meters above the ground, keeping the limp machine skewered on his arm. Reaching some height satisfactory to the cycloptic cyborg, he drove his left scythe into the lower portion of the Sentinel's torso, likewise breaching the opposite side. In one smooth effort, Gigan pulled his arms apart and ripped the automaton in half.

Both pieces dropped and crashed to the ground in ungainly heaps, one of the legs breaking at the knee upon impact. The upper body landed on its stomach, the eye-lights in the head blinking on and off. With its left arm configured in its normal hand setting, it tried to escape the danger and crawl away, dragging itself along one pull at a time.

Gigan landed directly on top, his left leg crushing the outstretched arm to pin it against the ground. He reached down with his left scythe and jabbed the tip of the hook into the top of the cylindrical head, methodically pulling back on it. With the head exposed, Gigan swung his right scythe and severed it in one clean stroke.

 **"Gigan!** " **Octavius barked.** "Return to base immediately!" The nerves of the scientist were beyond hot. In a more animated world, one might have seen steam shooting out of his ears. "Abort mission and return to base!"

Quartermain pressed his palms against his temples, his eyes closed in strained contemplation. "Fury is going to be on a warpath." He predicted. "And that's after he's done getting an earful about his pet project going rogue and turning three of Texas' state-owned Sentinels into scrap metal."

"Look on the bright side." Agent Marion offered. "At least we know who's got the biggest stick on the block."

 **The sound in his head was like a knife lodged in his brain,** it was the call of the Will. Gigan's mind rebelled against the command, phantoms of his own free will raising a flare of defiance to the little voice. He stumbled forward, leaving the decapitated Sentinel behind, tail thrashing like a fish out of water. The monster screeched, neck craned back to cry out towards the sky. Again the voice of the Will rung through his primitive conscious, and he felt his artificial muscles and joints straining to respond to it.

" _Return!"_ It commanded, the literal words of Otto Octavius translated to a baser concept, imbued with an inherent context of where it meant to return to. _"Obey! Return!"_

Unable to overcome the systematic control the Will exerted on his body, Gigan's forward motion ground to a halt, the titan collapsing onto his right knee. He tried to rise, tried to power his way through the tension, but it was not enough. Gigan's other knee came down, along with his scythes, putting him on all fours in a submissive posture.

The gleaming red light in the cyborg's eye glitched, fizzled, then went blank completely.

" **Looks like he shorted out."** Quartermain remarked, looking quizzically at the screen.

But Agent Marion understood full-well what had occurred. "You can't serve two masters." She enjoined. "The Sentinels forced his natural instinct towards self-preservation to supersede his programming."

"Which triggered a surge of free-will against my commands…" Octavius finished, tilting his head to one side in an unconscious gesture of awestruck realization. "Fascinating."

" **Ma'am? The board of directors is calling for you."** Still staring at the computer screen, Justine Hammer had no reaction to the young male aide in a business suit standing behind her chair. The video in front of her replayed the astoundingly fast incident between her Sentinels and the cyborg, the entire encounter not lasting more than 10 seconds from the time Gigan was fired upon. She watched the monster rematerialize out of nothing, then incapacitate three of her very well designed, very expensive machines with well-honed efficiency.

"Ms. Hammer, the board is waiting to talk to you." He reiterated.

Finally Justine was subtly broken of her fixation, inhaling sharply before she reached out and shut the lid of the laptop. She rose from her chair, buttoning the three buttons of her crimson suit to make herself more presentable.

"Thank you, Roger." Justine told him professionally. "Any clue as to what those old buzzards want to gripe about?"

Roger smirked sheepishly. "They didn't spell it out, but I imagine they'll want to discuss current events."

"Good." She said with a chipper tone as she passed him. "Because I do believe our stock is about to take a wild upswing."

 **A thin, horizontal red light appeared in Gigan's eye,** pulsating for a moment until the center of the line bubbled into a single mass that absorbed the rest of the light. As smooth as silk, the cyborg's head lifted to look forward and its body straightening out to stand erect. The battle for control was over, all that remained, was the Will.

His dorsal sails unfolded and stretched out, activating the cells within that allowed him to defy the pull of gravity. The coordinates for his objective was the first thing on his mind, accomplishing his task the only thing that mattered. Gigan loosed a screech as he rose into the sky with virtually no resistance from the forces of nature, like a helium filled balloon released by a child. In seconds, he was gone.

 **UNKNOWN LOCATION**

"Machines…

Aliens…

Monsters…

They think their grand visions of the next great super weapon will make them invincible. They are wrong."

The voice spoke in a cold, severe tone, a theatricality woven into the pronunciation that betrayed a charismatic tongue. Set before the mysterious orator were several video screens arrayed along a wall displaying a different news feed on each of them. Images of Chitauri craft in various conditions of destruction, city blocks laid to waste, and Gigan striding through smoke and fire.

"The hubris of the homo-sapiens knows no bounds. Thinking they can tame the fury of the titans, bring the gods under their leash."

A newscast in Chinese, hosting a video of an embattled Gigan between the two sitting anchors played scene to a fierce debate. Another in Russian displayed a stoic commentator conjecturing about the nature of the American's mercenary. Then there was an American newscast out of Las Vegas, the reporter giving her account while having the fallen Sentinel in the background.

"In enslaving the monster, they have cloaked themselves in a blanket of false security. It will not keep them warm, nor will it protect them from the inexorable scope of my righteous wrath."

On the screen in the center, the image froze on a shot of Gigan looking directly towards the camera, his beak open in mid-screech.

"Once more I will strike terror into the hearts of men, I will put them in their proper place beneath me. Beneath _us_."

A shadow was cast over the wall of screens, a rounded head set atop broad shoulders.

"And should they be so foolish as to send their pet abomination to oppose us… to resist the ascension of homo-superior…"

An arm was extended, and the television with Gigan's face on it was extracted from its kindred by an invisible force, floating gracefully forward.

"Then I will crush it…"

In a second, the flat screen was crumpled into a misshapen clump, bits of glass and plastic falling to the floor.

"With a wave of my hand."


	3. Captain America: The Island - pt1

**-CAPTAIN AMERICA-**

 **THE ISLAND**

 _"Legend tells us one thing, history another. But every now and then we find something that belongs to both." - Nick Fury._

 **FEBRUARY 1944, EUROPEAN THEATER OF COMBAT**

In the hillsides of northern Italy, the afternoon sky was turned a dreary gray as the plumes of smoke and stench of cordite filled the air. The thunder that sent shivers through the formerly charming countryside, however, did not originate in the dark clouds overhead. Rather, each clamorous boom was preceded by a terrifying whistle and climaxed with the sudden detonation of an artillery shell impact.

Gunfire was constant, the rapid bursts of rounds being shot and bolts being thrown back and forth was like the trickling of a stream; an ambient backdrop noise to all else. Shouts of men periodically rose above the din, cries of command, of alarm, of agony. "Up the hill! Up the hill!" One voice, in particular, called out, his voice unshaken and determined. "Behind me!" He ordered.

Atop the hill sat a humble villa, consisting of three structures within a perimeter wall. To the outside viewer, it would seem nothing more than the summer home of a European vacationer, low profile, modestly adorned. But to the forces crawling their way up the slope it was a merely an ornament, a front for something far more sinister.

Defending the high-ground, a machine gun nest was entrenched in the rocky hillside, a barrier of stones topped by a metal pillbox. Poking out from a slit in the steel was the barrel of a machine gun, from which spat small plumes of combustion for every bullet that came flying out.

The soldier behind the trigger aimed at anything that moved in his field of fire. On the shoulder of his uniform, a skull cradled in a writhing mass of tentacles, the emblem of his true allegiance. This soldier was not fighting for Reich and Fuhrer, no, he was loyal to HYDRA.

A round shield was thrust into the soil, a burst of bullets crumpling against its surface and falling in place. Coated in concentric rings of red and white, centered by a star in a blue circle, the Vibranium/Adamantium amalgam stopped the projectiles cold. Bearing a shoulder behind the shield, the world's greatest soldier appraised the situation.

"We've got to take out that machine gun!" Steve Rogers yelled over the racket, laying the length of his body on the inside of the shield. He had advanced the farthest, rows of low retainer walls provided cover for his men. Each time one of them would raise their head above the top of the wall, they would have to duck down just as quick before a splatter of bullets found them.

"That gunner's got an eagle-eye Cap!" Another younger voice responded. "We won't make it ten steps before he cuts us down!".

Rogers knew Bucky was right. The gunner must have the weapon on a swivel mount, probably a second man to keep the ammunition coming so he didn't have to pause to reload another belt or magazine. Unfortunately, the slope was the most expedient route to the HYDRA base, the hill surrounded on the other three sides by steep cliffs. They simply didn't have time to try and scale the vertical, they had to find a way to push through this obstacle, and they had to do it now. Hopefully without having his men torn to shreds.

"Bucky! Toss me a grenade!"

Knowing well enough to trust in his leader's plan, Sgt. James 'Bucky' Barnes unhooked a grenade from his belt. He took a second to breathe and muster a bit of courage. As fast as he could, he turned on his side and peeped over the top of the wall, spying where Captain America was ahead of him. It was only a second but as soon as he made sense of things, he saw the trail of tiny explosions in the soil heading his way. When he went back down he could hear and feel the shots hitting the other side of the retaining wall.

Thinking quick, he looked to his left, to where another group of his platoon was hunkered down. "Make him look your way!" Bucky called out to them.

In a similar motion to what the Sergeant had done, one of them propped his arms on the wall long enough to make himself visible. It was all the distraction he needed. Just as the machine gun turned its attention in the other direction, Bucky rose up to a knee and pitched the frag grenade up to where Rogers was prone.

The effort could not have been more perfect, the grenade hitting Cap right in the pocket of his stomach. He didn't waste a second, putting the stem of the explosive in his mouth and biting down to hold it in place. Coiling his body underneath, Rogers sprung forward frog-like up the incline. He repeated the process two more times, getting within comfortable range of the nest.

Planting the bottom edge of the shield into the dirt, he took the grenade in hand, knocking away the safety clip. He knew that the chances of getting it in the pillbox would be one hell of a shot, but he had a plan. Thumbing off the safety clip, he bit down on the safety ring and bracing himself on the ground, pulled the grenade free and lobbed it.

The gunner saw the small orb coming, and for a fraction of a second, his heart skipped. But, his fanatical training steeled him, and he remembered that the blast shield of his pillbox would protect him.

The grenade struck the front of the box and bounced off, landing on the ground a split second before it went off. The explosion threw up a cloud of dust and sand, obscuring the gunner's vision for only a moment. When it cleared, he saw movement and depressed the trigger reflexively.

The first bullet hit the shield positioned directly in front of the barrel, blunting upon impact. The next few rounds blocked the exit entirely, preventing the gas from escaping. But all of that occurred within a second, not enough time for the gunner to react to the gas being trapped, causing the chamber to explode in his face and ripping the innards of the machine gun to bits.

The HYDRA soldier was thrown against the back wall by the sudden violence of the explosion. Before he could recover, the door to the pillbox was opened from outside, an arm reaching inside to grab him by the collar. He screamed as he was lifted and tossed out into the cordite-drenched air, landing on his back with the wind knocked out of him. As soon as he tried to raise himself up, the edge of a shield was there to knock him back down.

The discus ricocheted off his head and back into Steve Rogers' hand.

"ADVANCE!" Captain America cried. "ADVANCE!" Seizing the opening, the men surged from their positions, the way cleared for them to dash like berserkers up the hill.

First among them, Sgt. James "Bucky" Barnes pumped his legs up the incline, rifle in hand, teeth grit. "Zola's little hidey-hole is right up there, boys! Let's go kick HYDRA in the balls!"

"Language!" Rogers scolded, men, laughing as they rushed past him.

"Really, Cap?" Bucky gave his friend an incredulous look as he met up with his oldest friend. "We're trading bullets with these fako-Nazis and your gonna give me crap about my language?"

Steve shrugged. "It just slipped out."

The villa atop the hill was built to withstand Allied bombing raids, via a devious method of the outer structure being nothing more than a facade. Stone pillars on either side of the front gate and artesian-designed towers gave a deceptive visage to defensive measures hidden in plain sight. The workshop of Armin Zola was a place under his total control. Save only the Red Skull himself could supersede the malign engineer's authority.

Captain America and his men came under the shadow of the compound's incongruous gloom, taking covered positions behind concrete barriers. The approach was narrow, and overlooking the main entrance were a pair of chiseled griffins set atop the pillars, staring down at the on-comers with predatory gleams. Their beaks split apart, lower from upper. In place of granite tongues sprouted steel muzzles that spat forth round after round. Hidden below the statues, HYDRA guards used a hand crank to spin the beasts in place while looking out from eye-slits.

A few men went down before they could reach the safety of the protective obstacles, their bodies twisting in sudden agony as they cried out with their final shrieks and collapsed.

Risking a spray of lead in his own chest, Rogers waited until the turrets turned away. Springing out from his position, he tossed the shield at the nearer of the two griffins, knocking it further aside and sending its fire into the sibling. The bullets chewed into the statue and disabled the weapon system.

"Bucky! Underneath the other one!" Catching his returning shield, Captain America ran into the open, drawing the enemy fire once the gunner was able to regain control.

Setting his rifle on the concrete barrier, Sgt. Barnes took careful aim through the sights, looking to acquire his target. He found it in a tiny flash of movement, the mask of the HYDRA soldier looking out from the brick-sized gap a few feet below the base of the weaponized gargoyle. It wasn't much of an opportunity, but it was enough.

The tip of his finger on the trigger, he exhaled, held the breath, and squeezed. There was a spark of ricochet and the griffin's rotating eased to a stop.

Stacking 10-deep alongside the stucco walls, Captain Rogers, and his men prepared to breach the iron gate's double-doors. "Who's got the charges?"

From the middle of the squad, one of the soldiers tossed a bulky bandolier up to the front. Cap caught it, taking out the explosive packages and planting them against the crevice of the doors. Carefully, he inserted the command wire into the blasting cap and stuck it into the clay-like substance.

The charge set he signaled to his men to turn away, bracing the shield over his back to take the brunt of the explosion's flank. It went off, warping the iron at the epicenter and exposing the thick steel bars on the opposite side that defiantly held the gate in place.

"Almost, Cap. Almost." Rogers' spared Bucky a sarcastic glance as they inspected the damage done. "One good push should do it." Retreating a dozen steps, Cap brought the shield around front, leaning forward to get a running start.

Sprinting forward like a lion on the chase, Steve Rogers put his shoulder behind the disk and leveled it. The amalgam armament hit the doors in the center, blowing both panels aside.

* * *

 **PRESENT DAY**

 **4 DAYS AFTER GODZILLA LEFT**

The wreckage left in New York City in the wake of what the media was dubbing 'The Monster Invasion' was still being sifted through. Days on, there remained hundreds of tons of steel and concrete in a rubble pile on the harbor where the Helicarrier and Triskelion had been. Thankfully the radiation had dissipated, Godzilla's parting gift potent but short-lived.

Since Nick Fury had resumed command of SHIELD, Captain America was free to resume his own duties as the freelance leader of The Avengers. At the moment, he was leaning on the railing on the upper deck of Stark Tower, looking out over the city. Tony was as busy as he had ever been, helping with recovery efforts both in the U.S. and Wakanda. Iron Man had left his friend the keys to the castle as a place to coordinate the available Avengers from and manage potential threats during this vulnerable time.

A whole swath of Manhattan streets lay in ruin. The monsters brought by Mole-Man, the fight between New York's heroes and the Orga creature, and of course the ambient destruction caused by Godzilla itself. The City had suffered more than its fair share of tragedy. Magneto's September 11th attacks, Victor Von Doom, the Mandarin.

But with the Orga creature stowed in the bowels of the Raft and Mole-Man stewing in a cell at the Big House, things were returning to some sense of normalcy. Though it weighed on everyone's mind that this calm after the storm was just a breather until the home-grown villains made their moves.

What would never be normal again, was the shiver that went down Rogers' spine whenever he remembered the gleam in Godzilla's eye. There was something in the explosive irises that betrayed a savage intelligence, a sense of familiarity, recognition. It brought him back to another time and place, one that he had thought merely a curious outlier in his frequently exceptional life.

Steve Rogers was a quietly religious man, Irish Catholic stock out of Brooklyn. It was never the most obvious feature of the man, the bright colors and shield-slinging usually were. But with everything he'd gone through in life, he'd only become more certain that he was on this path in life for a reason, and that everything on that path was there for a purpose.

What then, was the purpose of Godzilla?

* * *

 **FEBRUARY 1944**

It was a good thing that nigh-unbreakable shield was the first thing through the doors to Zola's fortress because it was greeted with a hail of bullets. Coming in behind Captain America, his men returned fire, flanking to either side of the doorway and spreading into the room. An exchange of grenades sent shrapnel and concussions in all directions.

" **He's here!" Arnim Zola** was an unremarkable man. Lower than average height, dumpy in a lab coat that was almost too big for him, with a tangle of unkempt brown hair atop a bulb-like head. He braced himself against a mechanical wall of control panels and power meters, fearful of not just having his work destroyed, but of the consequences of his failure. "We cannot allow him to destroy the machine!" He cried from behind thick glasses.

Indeed, the heart of the fortress was itself a laboratory, its lone atrium housing a metallic sphere positioned between a set of spikes from above and below. The ball was separated by the several steel plates that comprised its exterior, with four equidistant glass oblong windows running vertically. A glowing blue light emanated from the windows, the radioactive power core generating the necessary output for his experiment. If successful, it would put victory within HYDRA's grasp overnight. "God save us from the Red Skull if the Americans shut down this facility!"

 **HYDRA soldiers threw themselves** into the fray, hoping to be the one who finally took down Captain America. All of them would be disappointed. In a tornado of fists, boots, and solid shield, Steve Rogers fought his way through the medieval-style mansion, working his way down the winding stone steps. Knocking a jaw aside to clear the path, he sent the man tumbling over the side of the flight and down to the ground floor, where he landed on an oncoming troop of his comrades.

"This way!" Waving to Bucky and the others, Rogers pointed to where the stairs curved downwards and to the right. Beyond the curve, the source of a light coming from the lower levels betraying Zola's sanctum. While the HYDRA soldiers might have been more fanatical than the Americas they fought, that fanaticism didn't equate to superior training and sheer tenacity. They too smashed their way through a number of the enemy, moving throughout the castle and clearing out the last pockets of resistance.

Peeking up, Cap saw a few of Jack Fury's Howling Commandos chase down a few fighters at the top of the stairs. Their teams had hit the castle in a combined assault, the Howlers air-dropped into the courtyard on the other side. He recognized the men moving into the space. "Howlet! Fancy seeing you here!"

"Small world, bub." The growly soldier responded below, using the but of his rifle to club a HYDRA skull back down. "We'll keep these bastards busy! You get to Zola!"

"If you insist!" Following the Captain, Bucky and the others stormed down the last flight of stairs and into the reach of the blue light. A HYDRA soldier thought himself slick, hiding just behind the doorway only to pop-out just as he heard the foot-falls descend the last few steps, holding his automatic weapon at the hip. Unfortunately for him, he was met by the face of a white star. The bullets pinged harmlessly off the shield's surface before the muzzle was batted aside and followed by a closed fist.

The force of the punch projected the man backward through the threshold and over the edge of the landing in the adjacent room. He crashed back-first onto another guard who turned just in time to break the 15-foot fall.

Arnim Zola spun around at the sound of the collision, seeing that the room had been breached. "Stop them!" He yelped, legs shaking with fear and excitement. "Keep them away from the machine!" In his absent-minded effort to put a few more inches distance between himself and the incoming Americans, Zola backed up, his arm brushing against a red-knobbed lever.

Before he could realize his mistake, the lever shifted, setting something in motion that could not be undone. The machine behind him came alive with the thrum of energy, power meters swung their needles and copper accumulator coils gained a thin skin of electric blue.

"Oh no…" Zola gasped, comprehending to his horror that the experiment was active. "The spatial calculations! They're not ready!"

"The jig is up, Zola!" Standing at the top of the landing that overlooked the lab, Captain America bore his shield against the spray of bullets coming from the dozen soldiers on the floor. "We're shutting you down!" Diving off the landing, Cap tossed the shield across the room to ricochet off the forehead of one man, off the wall, and into the cranium of another.

He hit the floor in a roll, catching the returning shield with an outstretched hand just in time to bring it forward and into the chest of a soldier between him and Arnim. Reflexively he flung it to the side as he switched the knee he was crouched on, striking the muzzle of a light machine gun away.

"Don't shoot you fools!" Armin shrieked to his guards. "You'll damage the machine!"

"Getting' company, Cap!" dashing out onto the landing, Bucky and a few of the other men fired back the way they had come. "Skull's goons are crawling outta every damn crevice! Cut us off from everybody else!"

The sphere in the center of the room pulsed, waves of light washing through the windows like the hypnotic undulations of a cuttlefish. "It's not ready! It's not ready!" Zola frantically tried to forestall the machine's acceleration, but nothing he tried served to reign-in the process.

Rogers bull-rushed a pair of soldiers as he circled the room, coming closer to the main control panel. He struck out simultaneously with his shield and a kick, battering both men aside as he reached out to seize a grenade off the belt of one. A line of sight cleared between himself and the pulsating sphere, he thumbed away the safety clip and pulled the retaining pin.

Captain America was still gripping the explosive when Arnim Zola threw himself in the crossfire, sliding on his knees, hands out in a pleading gesture. "NO! If you blow the machine now, the power core will detonate! The castle will be obliterated!"

The dire warning stopped the fighting cold. HYDRA soldiers ceased firing, the Americans disengaged, even Cap froze where he stood with the grenade in his hand. Fortunately, the clip that prevented the explosive from going off was still lodged, held in place only by the grip of his fingers. He looked back and forth, between the weapon and his enemy, unsure for the moment about how to proceed in this mortally precarious situation. While he did not possess the scientific expertise to tell if Zola was bluffing or not. Then again, what else would motivate a rodent of a man like him to put his own bodily safety between a grenade and whatever he'd been building.

"You think he's putting us on, Cap?" Bucky asked, rifle raised at the nearest HYDRA, but backing away cautiously. "These squid-heads seem to take him seriously."

Zola swallowed a hard lump and spoke as calmly as his distressed nerves would allow. "Captain…" He gestured meekly with one arm back to the machine. "…There is enough atomic material in that device to level the hilltop and annihilate us in the process."

His fingers twitched as he thought over how to play this, if he restored the pull-pin to the grenade, he and his men would surely be shot down instantly. But if he released the lever, it might result in what Zola was so fearful of and none of them would survive anyway. At least currently, he couldn't be shot, for fear of losing hold of the explosive. Everyone was staring at him in silence, waiting to see what he would do.

* * *

 **NEW YORK CITY**

 _It would make for a great drinking story. If only I could tell it without sounding like a madman. There I was, deliberating which was the best way to get myself blown to hell, when all of a sudden…_

The memory reminded him of a set-up he'd heard on a thousand jokes, but as Steve Rogers braced his forearms on the railing listening to the morning sounds of the City that Never Sleeps, he found little incitement to humor. The city might be moving on, the citizens resuming their daily routine, the resilient tendency of humans to dust themselves off and get back to work even after the worst of catastrophes.

But Rogers knew better. Felt it in his gut. Something had changed, a Rubicon had been crossed and there was a pervasive sense of anticipation to every alert he got from SHIELD or saw on the news. The question that stalked in the back of his mind was not _if_ another kaiju would attack, but _when_.

 _People have relatable motives. Greed, ego, passion, fear. Perhaps that's what unnerves me the most about the monsters, their desires and reasons are kept guarded from us. There's more at work behind those eyes than just animal instinct, there's a mind there, some spark of the divine. I saw it in Godzilla's eyes when he stared at me, a mortal man daring to strike at a god. He destroys as much as he saves, as much the villain as he is the hero. Did he even recognize me?_

* * *

 **1944**

One could hear a pin drop in the chamber, American and HYDRA alike not wanting to make any sudden moves, do anything that might set things off. Zola's machine continued to thrum, the pace of its oscillations increasing.

"You can't shut that thing off?" Rogers asked.

Arnim glanced back to it and shook his head. "It's still in the prototype phase, I haven't had time to build-in all the necessary safeguards. It... It's never reached this stage of the process before."

"And once it's done? What's it supposed to do?"

Zola nervously shrugged his shoulders. "It's supposed to teleport us to one of our other bases, but… in this state it could take us anywhere. I believe the expression you have is: 'damned if you do, damned if you don't'?"

"Be that as it may, Zola-" Cap was cut off suddenly by an expansion of blue light from the sphere, drenching the room in a supernaturally strange glow.

"Too late now." Arnim put his arms down, staring at the flashing lights.

A HYDRA soldier lost his nerve, throwing his rifle to the floor and dashing past Bucky in an attempt to reach the stairs. The startling motion ignited everyone else to react; one of the American soldiers pivoting around to spray bullets across the wall in pursuit. In response, another HYDRA troop fired his weapon, one of the rounds accidentally piercing Captain America's right triceps.

The impact caused his arm to swing back, the hand gripping the grenade reflexively tightening. Excess pressure caused the item to slip free of his hold, leaving only the lever in its place. Time passed in slow motion as Rogers watched the explosive free-fall, Zola's face contorting in horror. Cap tried to lash out with his foot, hoping to kick it as far away as possible before it detonated.

In a split-second Zola's device flashed, sending out a wave of sapphire energy through the atoms of every living person in the stone chamber. By the time it reached the wall, they were gone.

Rogers' felt his boot connect with the grenade, knocking it far away. His line of sight followed it until it plunked harmlessly into the water.

The water. He realized. For a few heartbeats, he stood in place, seeing the lazy waves lapping against the shore, feeling the warm sand shifting under his feet. Under the water, the grenade detonates with a muffled boom.

American and HYDRA soldiers took in their new surroundings, a beach roughly 30-meters wide, bordered by a wall of tropical trees and bush of vibrant green. In the air was the ambient sound of birds, wind rushing through the leaves, and the ocean that stretched to the horizon. Neither side knew quite what to do at first. Should they fight? Should they run? Should they panic?

The new situation apparently had hit a reset button, the HYDRA fighters now regaining their sense of hostility, leveled their weapons at the outnumbered Americans.

"Look out!" Screamed Bucky. Rounds began to fly as both sides resumed combat, the change of scenery doing nothing to assuage the instinct to wipe the other out.

An American and a HYDRA body hit the sand across from each other, their lifeblood filtering down into the grains. Zola hurried to flee, falling on his stomach and losing a shoe in the process before scrambling animalistically on all fours towards the concealment of the jungle.

Rogers saw the scientist out of the corner of his vision, but the more immediate concern of keeping his men alive kept him in the fight. Tossing his shield mid-sprint, the disk struck an enemy soldier in the chest, knocking the man off his feet and into the back of another. Catching the shield on the rebound, he gestured for his men to follow him out of the open space and into the forest.

"Find cover!" He shouted, holding his shield up to protect the retreat of the four men he has left, two of them hauling their injured buddy, Bucky the last of them to disappear.

"We've got to find Zola!" One of the HYDRA men commanded, pointing to where Armin had fled for his life. When the last of the dozen of Red Skull's faithful sprinted into the bush, the beach was left peaceful, save for the lone body of the abandoned HYDRA trooper.

Near the spot where the grenade had exploded underwater, a throng of bubbles reached the surface, boiling upwards in a white froth. Drawn by the detonation, an ominous shadow moved beneath the surface, an automatous wave stalking towards the shore.

 _THUND…. THUND…_

It was more than a sound, it was a sensation in the ground. The wounded HYDRA soldier opened his eyes with a start and a gasp, the breath stopped short in his throat by the blood that came spurting back up. He tried to turn onto his belly but found parts of his body unwilling to follow his impulse. Begrudgingly his left arm was able to flop onto his chest, where he felt the slickness surrounding the entry wounds,

 _THUND… THUND…_

The ground shook with the tremors. He turned his head and sucked in a breath of air when he saw it. Again, the gasp was confounded by the blood filling his lungs and instead of the air needed to scream, only crimson came forth and bubbles over his lips. Sheer terror stretched his eyes, nostrils flaring as he began to hyperventilate despite his injuries.

 _THUND… THUND…_

His one usable hand, possessed of a newfound frantic strength, lashed out and grabbed hold of the sand at his side, clawing through the grains to find some purchase to drag himself away. Stark panic stole his reason, and the harder he scrabbled, the deeper hole he dug. Finally, he tried at last to brutally heave himself over, but there was simply not enough strength left in his upper body. Precious adrenaline-infused blood continued to seep into the sand.

A shadow fell over him as he became still, realizing that no hope of salvation would come from escape. The glare of the sun like a halo, it obscured the details of the shadow caster. All the petrified man on the beach could see clearly however, all he could focus on, was the teeth.

 **The jungle offered a different flavor of war** than he was accustomed to. Indeed, this type of methodical and mind-twisting warfare was still a few decades away from his time. Steve Rogers raised his wounded arm and swung it back down in an effort to work through the pain. His physical enhancements doing much to keep him going, but the bullet had grazed the bone, making him wince with every movement.

Aside from Bucky and himself, four of his men had arrived with them, one of which was propped against a tree at the moment, choking up his own blood. They had no MEDEVAC support to call in, and there was no place for them to take him. Whatever meager first-aid items they carried were all they could offer him. Cap knew it was not enough.

This war against the Axis Powers and HYDRA had chewed-up the lives of millions of young men with an insatiable appetite. Corporal Higgins was a sharp kid, never hesitated to follow Captain America into the maw of danger. Now that bravery and loyalty had all but killed him, his reward was to bleed-out in some forsaken jungle in god-knows-where. There was no saving him, Higgins knew it, everyone knew it.

Kneeling at his side, Rogers put a hand on his shoulder. Higgins took his hand away from where it was clutching a bevy of thick leaves to his chest and hung it over Cap's arm, acknowledging without a word that he was at peace with the end of his story. The two men were staring into each other's eyes when the light went out in the Corporal's and his hand fell away.

"Cap…" Standing guard, Bucky glanced over his shoulder, rifle still tucked into his shoulder pocket. "We can't stay here, we need to find something to figure out where the hell we are."

"I know." Taking back his hand, Rogers took the shield from its position on his back and turned to his left. "But we've got something to take care of here first." Gripping the disk on either side, he spiked the bottom edge into the soil and began scooping a hole.

" **I don't understand this!"** Slumping onto a rocky outgrowth to catch his breath, Arnim Zola was in disbelief, his hair plastered to his scalp, clothes disheveled and covered with sweat-stains. "There should be a HYDRA base right here! The machine is calibrated to send us to predetermined coordinates."

Standing around him, the rest of the HYDRA soldiers took positions. More than one was breathing heavily, searching the green through the sights of their weapons. Loyal duty aside, they knew Zola was their best chance at getting back where they belonged. There was an ever-present specter of being watched in this jungle-like something was waiting just behind the veil for them to lower their guard.

A rustling in the branches above drew all muzzles upwards, but nothing more gave itself away.

"We don't belong here." One said, his voice shaking.

Zola put a hand over his forehead to cover it from the sun. "I think we are on an island. Somewhere tropic judging by the vegetation and brutality of the sun."

"The Caribbean?" A soldier asked.

The scientist shook his head. "Too close to America. If I had to guess, the south-Pacific, Polynesia somewhere. Close enough to be in contact with our Japanese allies."

A bird-like trill came from the bush, eliciting the soldiers to all turn in the direction of the sound. Then another was heard on the opposite side of their perimeter, signaling back to the other.

"It sounds… big." Zola said, parsing the words with an audible gulp.

"Brrr-aaaak!" Emerging from yet a third angle, a creature's head emerged from the green. A row of tall, orange feathers was the first to rise into view, followed by a huge beak, behind which were curious bright green eyes. Relative to the men, the head was at eye level, and about the size of a horse's head. It tilted to the left, studying the hesitant humans.

"Die Teufel ist das ding?" While they were all focused, another of the creatures exposed itself, issuing its own series of trills and chirps.

"Another one!" Unsure of what they were encountering, the HYDRA soldiers began to close ranks around Zola, keeping their weapons raised at the high-ready.

Behind Arnim, the full body of one of the large birds leaped onto the rock he was resting on. He dived away with a startled yelp, in time to see the upright avian squawking at him, a set of folded claws held close to its breast. On the feet, Zola noticed, was sets of raptorial talons, the kind made for rending flesh, replete with sickle-shaped claws for disemboweling.

A soldier screamed suddenly when another of the creatures leaped from the bush, landing on his back and pinning him to the ground. There, it lashed out with its heavy beak and struck him in the back of the skull, silencing his cries.

Seeing all they needed to, the HYDRA men opened fire, spraying their bullets more than anything else in their defensive frenzy. One of the avian creatures was shredded, splattering blood and feathers as it stumbled backward from its prey in a mix of shock and agony. The others scattered into the green as quickly as they had appeared.

Like the soldiers on the beach, the animals left their injured kin behind, forsaking it to secure their own safety. Cautiously, Zola and his men circled the dying predator, fingers on their triggers. Fearing the humans, it lashed out with its talons, managing to carve a gash into one of their thighs, tearing out flesh in the blink of an eye. The other soldiers unleashed another hasty salvo of bullets into its torso.

As one more of Zola's guards collapsed screaming like a banshee, the bird loosed its own piercing wail, the mortal wounds, at last, seizing the last drops of life from it. Beside it, the HYDRA man ceased flailing and went into shock, going pale and passing out from the massive hemorrhaging. Combat medical care not a part of the Red Skull's training camp, his former comrades simply looked on as the last breath escaped his lungs.

"What the hell is this place?" Arnim muttered aloud to no-one in particular.

Another feral cry overcame them all. Much like that of the fearsome raptors, only far louder. It was accompanied by the sound of branches bending and breaking, giving way to something full of power and fury bearing down on them.

A mohawk of sunset-shaded feathers breached the green, a more mature version of the one sported by the dead creature. This set, however, towered two-stories above the ground.

"KRAAAAWWK!" A beak big enough to snap-up a man whole tore through the branches and saw its spawn slaughtered on the forest floor. Its gaze transferred to the men and narrowed with primitive hatred.

"Shoot it! Shoot it!" The guards opened fire, infuriating the beast even further, causing it to charge, stampeding towards them on tree-like legs. Layers of feathers absorbed the impact of the bullets as it bore down on them, doing little more than hitting with soft thuds before falling away.

They ran, scrambling before it as one hapless man was plucked from the ground in its beak and crushed instantly. Zola was in the lead, running without care to what was ahead of him so long as it didn't bar his path. Damn his guards, damn the missing facility, and damn HYDRA just so long as he could put more distance between himself and that horrible monster.

He could hear it behind him, screeching, running down the men as they screamed in terror. He had never known fear like this. True, The Red Skull was a master of intimidation, but he was still human. This was an instinctual fright, a rabbit escaping the fangs of the wolf, his heart about to burst in his chest.

"Hold it!" Zola nearly toppled over as he came to a sudden halt, mouth open to suck in a breath as he stared at Captain America before him.

Standing with his few remaining men to either side, Rogers held his palm out to keep Arnim a few paces away. But in spite of the presence of his enemy, the scientist gave him an expression of abject dread, stuttering and gesturing back in the direction he had come.

"Something's got him spooked, Cap," Bucky said, slowly bringing his cheek away from the stock of his rifle.

"KRAAAAWWWK!"

All heads lifted to the sound of the creature.

"I take it, not one of yours," Rogers said, scanning the green.

Just then, the HYDRA soldiers emerged, striking the Americans back into hypervigilance.

"Put down your-!"

Before Captain America could finish, the HYDRA soldiers split, dashing to either side and dispersing, Zola himself choosing to join those who went left.

Immediately put off guard by the behavior of enemies who now seemed more preoccupied, Steve Rogers realized that fighting HYDRA might be the least of his worries for now.

"Stick together!" He ordered, raising his shield protectively. "And keep your eyes peeled!"

"Ain't gotta tell me twice." One of his soldiers muttered.

"We've gotta find some high ground, get a bearing on this place."

 _THUND… THUND…_

They felt it in the ground, lightly at first, but with growing power.

 _THUND… THUND_ …

"I think those squids had the right idea, Cap! Let's beat-feet!" Just as the five Americans turned and began running, the avian-giant came crashing through the boughs, beak wide open and screeching.

Rogers let his men pass him, allowing the monster to set its focus on him. "I'll catch-up!" He called out, bringing his shield to bear. The beast struck, intent on snatching him up. But even the enormous beak failed to defeat the combination of Adamantium and Vibranium, hitting the shield with an audible crack. While Rogers was shoved to a knee, the beast recoiled in confusion and pain, flailing its head from side to side.

"Cap we gotta go!" One of his men cried, waving an arm. Steve turned and saw him, cursing for a moment that any of them had been so loyal that they refused to leave him behind. But he saw the thing moving behind his soldier, the seconds going by in slow motion.

Before he even knew the danger was there, the faithful soldier was crushed underfoot like a grape in stride by something even more terrible than the feather-crested predator. Bellowing a roar that shook Rogers to the bone, the new monster passed over him with the next step, advancing without notice towards the recovering raptor. Seeing only the underbelly, it reminded him of one of the dinosaurs he had seen on an aged poster for the movie "The Lost World".

The once-fearsome creature was too late in reacting to his native foe, heaving itself bodily away, just not in time. Rogers watched as teeth almost as long as his forearm clamped down on the avian beast's neck and swung it back around. It was a furious struggle of muscle and savagery, the two monsters howling and clawing at one another. The avian snapped with its bludgeoning beak and lashed out with its talons, trying in vain to fend off the superior predator.

The inadvertent savior, his foe's neck still in its jaws, threw it to the ground, pinning one of its legs down with a thunderous stomp. It was now that Captain America was able to take in the breadth of the interloper. Standing on two legs seething with muscle, covered in sea-green scales, the dinosaur-like beast violently thrashed its prodigious head back-and-forth until something thick snapped and the avian's struggle ceased.

Possessing a body that had to be 19-20 ft. at the shoulders, the saurian let the limp neck go and postured over the corpse, bracing a forelimb over its face. Perhaps in a reflexive show of dominance, it loosed an ear-splitting roar, challenging any to come and take his prize from him. Acting as a counter-balance, the tail beat side-to-side, the tip ending in a paddle.

Rogers lay on his side, staring breathlessly in a mixture of astonishment and a natural instinct to not draw the carnivore's attention.

"Cap!" Bucky cursed, dashing to a knee beside his leader. "I think I just saw Jacobs-"

At the same time, Steve Rogers and Bucky locked eyes with the monster, blood staining its lower jaw. It appraised them for a few seconds, making curious guttural noises.

"Do we…thank him or..?"

"No, Buck. I think we just run."

Slowly, so as not to give the beast anything sudden to react to, the men rose to their feet, feral eyes tracking them, lifting in tandem.

"Just like that old dog with the broken canine in the neighborhood." Easing a protective arm in front of his friend, Steve backed them away with careful steps. "Running will only make it chase you."

The saurian barked, whether it was a warning or something else, they could not say, but it did make then swallow a hard lump of nerves.

The spatter of gunfire erupted from the branches of a nearby tree.

"Get the hell out of there!" In the upper boughs of an adjacent tree, one taller than the beast, the other two American soldiers fired down, one of them possessing the squad's light machine gun that burned through rounds by the seconds. Bullets assailed the left flank of the creature, pinging off as they would against the side of a tank, the hide impenetrable.

The monster let out a howl of rage and swung its tail. As thick around as the width of a grown man's shoulder, the tree trunk was shattered like a toothpick where the tail smashed into it, knocking the bottom portion to a 45° angle to the right. The top half went in the opposite direction, collapsing against another tree, the men hanging on just barely.

Sergeant Tom Wulvens and Private First Class Eddie Clopper dangled from the branches by grip-strength alone, PFC Clopper holding on to the machine gun out of pure training reflex. Sgt. Wulvens managed to pull himself up and sling his arms over the branch, holding on to his rifle with two fingers. The beast lunged, a forest of teeth opening to pick them off like ripe cherries.

A star-spangled shield struck just below the modern dinosaur's eye, causing it to flinch at the last second and reach up with a forelimb and caress the point of impact. Rogers caught the shield on the rebound, sprinting towards the prehistoric predator. He jumped onto the head of the fallen avian, using it to leap into the air shield first in a desperate gambit to draw the creature's ire away from his men.

Captain America came to a dead stop when the shield was caught in the living fossil's teeth, breath hot with fresh blood filling his nostrils.

Pure chance. Steve thought in the moment, holding on by the straps of his shield and looking at the fangs just inches away. With a quick flick of its neck, the monster cast man and shield aside. Rogers' back hit the trunk of a tree with a sickening thwack, his spine bending around the wood and forcing out a sharp grunt of pain.

Bucky took a prone position and put his vision down the sights of his rifle, waiting for the right chance to send a bullet into its eye and hopefully scare if off. "Come on you son of a bitch! Look my way!"

Instead, the creature latched onto the severed portion of the tree with its mouth and tore it out of the boughs, heaving it across the space and towards Barnes. As he bounded from his position, he saw Clopper lose his grip and fall to the ground as the tree-top continued past him. Wulvens, who had held on, was crushed when the tree hit the ground and bounced into a roll. Broken branches and broken human littering the path.

Bucky had only missed being steam-rolled by a few feet, throwing himself with all the power his legs could generate into the bush.

PFC. Clopper, lifted his face from the dirt, realizing to his horror that he was back on the ground.

 _THUND… THUND…_

A throaty growl put the hairs on the back of his neck on end, a mortal shiver ran icicles up his spine. With the humid sensation of breath washing over his back, he wondered where Cap was.

His final scream was cut off when the fangs crunched down on his ribcage, crushing the life out of him, bones shattered and organs popped. The beast lifted him in his jaws, flipping him up only to catch deeper in the gullet before chewing once and swallowing.

Rogers pushed himself to his knees, jaw clenched from the pain wracking his body. He saw where the tree-half had been lobbed, saw the awkwardly posed body of his soldier, saw the blood dripping from the dinosaur's chin as it licked its chops.

Something sprinted through the bush. Bucky… Cap realized. So too did the monster, its head swinging in his direction.

Batting a heavy leaf-laden bush aside as he ran, Sgt. Barnes stuck his rifle out behind him and fired blindly. Tree limbs breaking proof that neither timber nor ammunition was going to be an obstacle for his pursuer. Nothing he had seen in the war prepared him for this. Seeing men fall from gunfire and close combat with the enemy was one thing, terrible as it was to become accustomed to. This was something far more primal, ancient parts of his brain reacting to instinct embedded in his DNA. Run his body told him, run as fast as you can.

With every thud of the monster's foot, he could feel it closing the gap, his frantic sprint only delaying the inevitable for a few moments.

"Buck! Take cover!" He heard call out. Training reflex went into effect, and he dived for cover behind a tree.

A grenade bounced off the thick hide of the creature a half-second before it exploded beside its head. The detonation was only matched by the beast's shriek. Disoriented, it thrashed its head from side-to-side, uttering sharp barks and wails. For the time being, it turned away from Bucky.

Captain America came dashing low out of the green, reaching his friend, they crouched on the opposite side of the tree.

"Wulens and Clopper…" Barnes began panting, his face twisted in terror and anguish. "They're gone, Cap, they're-"

"I know, Buck." Gripping his shoulders with both hands, Rogers looked his friend in the eye, steeling his courage. "We can't help them right now, okay? Right now we gotta keep ourselves alive."

The creaking of the tree caused both men to look up just in time to see the whole thing being pushed over in their direction. Braced against the tree-trunk, the dinosaur's foot toppled the entire thing. Rogers, still gripping Bucky, heaved his friend with all his strength out of harm's way before bringing his own shield up.

Having rousted his prey, the monster reached out with open jaws for the one left behind. Again, the rim of the shield was all that prevented the teeth from biting into human flesh. Unlike before, however, the lunge did not stop. Frustrated by the elusiveness of his quarry, the beast pushed onwards, grinding Steve into the dirt and plowing onward.

He cried out as rocks and other debris raked his back, like being worked over a cheese-grater. But he knew his life depended on keeping hold of the shield, so he screamed instead. He wasn't aware of how far he was being pushed, feeling every millisecond of it dig into his back, tearing his uniform and scraping away layers of skin.

He was lifted, hands of iron still not surrendering his shield, and dangled high above the ground. Something clenched his left leg, and looking down, saw that it was the digits of the creature's right foreclaw wrapped around his calf. The pressure was slow at first, the arm trying to pull him free, but with one quick tug he was separated and held aloft.

Incredibly, the monster let him go, choosing instead to focus its attention on the shield lodged in its teeth, awkwardly trying to use its lower jaw to displace it. The irritation proved enough of a distraction for Rogers to hit the ground and begin crawling through the leaves. In a high-crawl himself, Bucky met him halfway and helped to drag him the rest of the way to cover.

"Ah!" Setting his back against a fungus-covered stone, Steve cursed the sting of his exposed nerves on the rough surface. Quickly, Barnes put a hand over his mouth to stifle the noise, both of them listening intently for the beast. The ponderous stomping of its feet stopped abruptly, either because it had succeeded in dislodging the oral obstruction, or it realized that its prey had escaped. Either way, they made no move, remaining perfectly still. The only thing that carried through the silence, was the sound of running water.

In unison, Steve and James turned their heads in the same direction, where they heard what sounded like a river flowing.

The scent of blood filled its nostrils, fresh and spiked with adrenaline. A trail of bright crimson along the ground betrayed the injured, an easy track for a predator to follow. He lowered his head and pinching the rim of the shield with the very extremity of his claws, managed to free it.

Leaving the monster on the other side of a veil of forestry, Cap and Bucky made for the source of the water. Rogers with his arm around his shoulder for support. For just a moment a rustle in the branches above made them flinch before hurrying onward.

"Did Zola send us back in freakin' time?" Bucky asked.

"He didn't say anything about time-travel, but…"

In complete indifference to their dilemma, a long low growl crept up behind them. They increased their pace, hampered by the imposition of Rogers' deceptive body weight. Hearing the running water get closer and closer, Rogers swept aside a stem of several wide leaves to reveal a dead-drop cliff not two feet away.

They halted with a wavering balance, fighting momentum at the last second. Down below, roughly 30 meters, ran a dark river snaking through the green on either side. Captain America mentally ran the estimations; at 25ft wide, they could make the jump easy, but it might be jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.

The monster's leg demolished a wall of young trees, his hungry spread of teeth emerging into view. It was not uncommon for small prey to evade him in the dense jungle, but the musk of blood could not be hidden from his powerful sense of smell. By that alone, he could have pursued them. Especially with this human's blood possessing such a strange and exotic flavor.

Rogers and Bucky turned as the monster roared, seeing its prey hesitating on the precipice of the cliff. Cap knew there was no way they'd outrun the predator now, and without his shield, they were out of lucky breaks.

Into the fire…

Steve grabbed hold of Bucky and heaving his own body, threw them both over the edge. They hit the water feet first, the coolness of the water momentarily soothing the shredded flesh on his back. It was murky under the surface for the brief flash of time his eyes were open before he closed his eyes and mouth, not knowing what strange microbes and parasites might inhabit these tropical waters.

Popping back up into the air and sucking in gasps of breath, they glanced immediately to see the dinosaur perched on the lip of the bluff, staring back down at them curiously. The river carried them off to the creature's right, the current stronger than it seemed from outside.

"Giving the slip to a dinosaur…" Sgt. Barnes muttered, spitting out a mouthful of water. "Now there's something to tell the boys about. If we ever get back."

"We'll make it back, Buck."

Watching the two small creatures float downstream, the mammoth carnivore took a step back from the edge. With one quick step forward, it leaped into the air bellowing a roar, pulling both legs towards its chest as it went over. Like the humans it landed feet-first, creating a tremendous splash as it disappeared under the foamy waves. Unlike the men, it did not re-emerge.

Having just witnessed 20-tons of primeval predator jump in after them, a traded set of worried stares between Bucky and Rogers confirmed that they needed to extricate themselves from the river.

A scaly snout breached the water's surface, snorting a gust of air. Just behind it, a set of bestial eyes rolled back protective translucent eyelids to get a clear view. Dorsal plates preceded a rippling wake manifesting a few meters behind, propelling the monster with purpose.

"For the love of Christ!" Grabbing onto Rogers' belt, Bucky used his left arm to start swimming for his life towards the river bank.

"We probably could use a miracle right about now." Paddling with his legs, Steve did what he could to aid in their angled movement. The current held them like the newspaper boats they used to sail in the gutters on a rainy day, growing stronger with every passing meter.

Bucky got close enough to just scrape his fingertips at the green fronds hanging out over the water, snapping some off as he tried for one strong enough to tether them in the flow.

"Come on!" Chancing a lunge, Bucky finally grabbed hold of a root jutting out from the soil, its fibers creaking from the exertion of supporting both men. Rogers helped himself by swinging over and clutching a handful of soil, using it for an anchor.

The monster raised its whole head above the surface, opening its maw to chomp down on the water with a throaty growl.

"Hurry!" Clambering up the vertical face of the back, they had only moments before the car-sized set of jaws would catch-up to them. Bucky used the thicker root at the base of the lanky tree to haul himself over the edge and rolled over to assist his friend. But a patch of dirt broke away and Rogers' foot slipped, his fingers clawing through the mud as he went.

Bucky dove, catching onto Cap's wrist before he could descend any farther. But the Sergeant had sacrificed sure leverage in the process and in the next second, he too began sliding headlong towards the water.

Something grabbed his ankle, however, seizing it with a tight grip. He was beyond the ledge and could not see at first, choosing instead to take the gamble and bring his other hand down to get both on securing Rogers.

The strength of all three combined was enough to drag the men over the edge of the river bank. Hands, Bucky could now realize had been what saved him. As he slid on his belly across the lip, they readjusted to latch onto his belt and collar, hands possessing a startlingly powerful grip.

Rogers looked up to see a ragged-looking man behind Bucky, black hair wild and unkempt, a matching beard not trimmed in several weeks. More curious, was the tattered and stained clothes he wore, instantly recognizable as a military uniform of some kind. That was when he saw through the bushy exterior and really saw the man's face. He was Japanese.

"Isoide! Kochiradesu!" The stranger barked, motioning towards the jungle. Bucky and the Nihongo heaved Rogers to his feet hurrying him into the green.

He led the Americans along a well-hidden path until at last, they came to a crevice in a rock-face. Going first, the stranger shimmed sideways through the crevice, keeping a hand on Steve Rogers to lead him along beside.

The very air vibrated with the roar of the monster climbing up the river bank, foreclaws first then the feet goring into the side of the mud to create steps. Washed away by the water, the scent of his prey was faint, no longer a solid trail. But it was still there, tiny particles wafting in the gentle breeze, the unmistakable musk of blood leading into the jungle.

 _THUND… THUND…_

Barnes shot a look over his shoulder and saw a massive shadow moving through the forestry. His body stiffened and clung to the rock. Whereas the scrawny Japanese man had shuffled through the fissure easily, Rogers' meaty upper-body proved a bit too thick to not scrape on the walls. Captain America had to grind his teeth together to prevent himself from screaming in pain, his exposed and tender wounds raked by the poriferous volcano-born stone.

After a few tense moments of the torturous process, Steve was through, stumbling onto his hands and knees inside a dark chamber. The stranger wrapped an arm around him and drug him over to the wall, out of sight from outside. Barnes then quickly worked his way through to the inner space, taking his own position on the wall opposite the others.

The light beaming in from outside disappeared, dropping the chamber into near-total darkness. Heavy but measured breathing made no pretense of what had provided the eclipse, the various noises made in the monster's throat echoed in the confined space. The shadow shifted, and now a strange, slick, slapping sound could be heard. Bucky leaned forward just enough to make sense of what it was doing.

" _It's licking the blood off the wall… It's got a taste for human…"_


	4. X-Men: Twisted Beauty- part 1 'Rosebud'

**TWISTED**

 **BEAUTY**

 _ **PART 1: "ROSEBUD"  
**_

He stood there staring at it from the doorway, a mug of coffee slowly cooling in his hand.

Henry McCoy, known more dynamically as "Beast" of the famous X-Men, was dumbstruck by the sight in his lab. Already late for his classes, he'd rushed over to look for the satchel he liked to use for his paperwork. When he opened the door and saw the stunning object on the opposite side of the room, there was little more he could do than stop and stare, a pair of elegant eyeglasses sliding imperceptibly down his nose.

The rose that had been so stubbornly introverted for weeks was now in full bloom. Not only that, but it had grown as well, a thicker and longer stem than what he had left just the night before. Thorns that were barley more than bumps now covered the stem, as sharp-looking as sharks teeth.

 _It worked_. He realized. Invigorating the flower with G-Cells had stirred astonishing overnight growth. He would have to thank Reed Richards for providing the sample of the titan. Right after he documented everything thoroughly and moved the burgeoning plant into something large enough to accommodate its growth.

 _I injected this thing with DNA from a radioactive colossus, I may need to isolate it._

Beast used a finger to lightly push his glasses back up his snout. "Right…" He knew he had to move swiftly. Already late for his first class, the rose had to be secured before others began snooping around to find him. There was a mobile curtain set that he kept in the lab, and retrieving it from the corner of the room, he set it around the flowerpot to shield it from view.

"I'll come back for you during break." Speaking gently to the vibrant petals, he ran a furry-finger around the outer rim, inspecting the perfection with which his project had bloomed. Every petal was absolutely flawless, healthy and beautiful.

"I'll just give you a little drink before I go and take my notes later." Filling a beaker with water from the sink, Beast poured the contents in a ring around the base of the stem.

"There, that should hold you over for now." He stood there for a moment, beaker in hand, staring down at it. Giving a hum of curious thought, he set the glass aside and adjusted the clay pot to make sure the face of the flower was in position to get the most sunlight though the window. "You just worry about growing for now, I'll take care of you."

Pulling the curtain stand into place, Henry grabbed his bag from where it sat beside a work table. He was heading for the door when something stopped him. Sniffing, he picked-up on a very faint metallic scent in the room. Finding nothing worth immediate attention however, he left.

The door to the lab closed with a moderate slam as Beast went off to make sure his morning class hadn't descended into anarchy. The curtain he'd left behind was white and pristine, silhouetting the flower against the light streaming in from outside.

A few seconds after the door closed, every so slightly, the shadow shifted.

* * *

 **The long road to the mansion** was a dirt path lined on either side by a few yards of grass and bushes. Roaring down the center of the road, a lone motorcycle left a cloud of dust behind it as it sped towards the Institute. The rider wore no helmet, preferring to let the wind run through his thick black hair. He had no real fear of injury, even if some catastrophic accident occurred on the home stretch.

Dressed in a black leather jacket over a white shirt, worn jeans, and riding with a sun-faded olive-green duffle bag on his back, Wolverine, known less frequently as Logan, spat a gob of brown to the side.

A group of students sitting on the front yard of the mansion rose to their feet as Logan pulled up to the entrance. They whispered amongst themselves, staring with caution but careful not to make it too obvious.

Logan came to a stop, and knocking the kickstand into position, worked a kink out of his neck as he dismounted. He spared the not-so-inconspicuous teenagers a glance from behind his sunglasses and spat another wad of accumulated tobacco spittle.

The door to the mansion swung open, and students passing in the hall came to a stop when they saw who had arrived. A renewed murmur of conversation spread through them, though as Logan walked towards the stairs to the second floor nobody spoke to him, they meekly got out of his way.

"Welcome back, Wolverine!" One kid called out. He stopped on the flight to see Bobby Drake looking up at him from the passing throng.

"'Sup kid." Logan answered, taking his glasses off. "You been staying out of trouble?"

Bobby shrugged. "Mostly."

"Right answer."

The last of the students filtered out of a relatively small room, Professor Xavier sitting in the center beside his elegant oaken desk, a mathematics book splayed out across his lap. Logan entered the room, having to turn his body aside to let a teenage boy with bone-like spikes growing out from his elbows pass by.

"Glad to see the mansion is still standing, Chuck." Shouldering off his duffel bag, Wolverine extended the other hand towards the Professor.

"Not for… lack of trying." Xavier answered with a wry tone. After a brief but earnest handshake, he set the book aside and gestured for Logan to take one of the seats that formed a semi-circle opposite the desk.

"So I heard." Splaying his knees, Logan leaned back in the chair. "Giant monsters, huh? I would'a called but I lost my phone."

"And how was your sabbatical?" Motoring around the side of the desk, Charles propped his elbows on the surface and clasping his hands, touched his chin to the paired thumbs. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

The living weapon didn't answer at first, mulling the disappointment with a twisting of the corner of his mouth. "Nah, she's still out there somewhere. I don't know if those project creeps got their hands on her again or what."

Xavier glanced down at his papers. "Laura is out there somewhere. I think we both know she's more than capable of looking out for herself."

"Yeah…" Wolverine, absentmindedly traced his fingers over the right side of his jaw, where he recalled feeling the twin blades tear though the flesh. Of course, no scar remained on the skin, but on the Adamantium-protected mandible he did sense a memento.

"Yeah she's a wild one."

"In any case I'm glad you've come back, Logan. Recent… events have left things in rather a strained state. SHIELD is all but out of the fight, and between the Avengers and Fantastic Four, they're doing all they can to keep emergent threats in check. We might be too if Jean were more recovered from her… incident."

"What about Scott and the others? They gearing up for anything?"

This raised a probing eyebrow on the Professor. "You're thinking of going out on a mission? So soon?"

"You know how I am, Xavier." Logan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Can't stay settled in one place for too long."

Both men understood the sentiment. Unlike his original X-Men, Logan had never been a student or protégé. Like Storm and Beast, Wolverine was more a colleague, someone he didn't have to play the part of mentor and proxy parent to.

Breaking the silence, Logan propped his feet up on one of the adjacent chairs. "So, besides interdimensional monsters, what's new around here? Where's Storm?"

"Asgard, of all places." Charles answered nonchalantly.

"Asgard?"

"Yes, apparently Ororo preferred to have some distance to cope with the loss of T'Challa and Wakanda. Can't say I blame her."

Wolverine nodded with a pursed lip, knowing full well the desire to get away from the world for a while. "She's been through a lot."

"Indeed, Thor was kind enough to send a messenger, quite literally a raven with a letter tied to its leg. She's recouping under his guardianship in the royal halls, her every necessity provided for." Charles raised an eyebrow. "I'll grant you it's probably nicer than her old room here."

* * *

 **The curtain slid back abruptly** , and Henry stepped back from what he saw.

"Well… that's different."

In the span of half a day, the rose had grown. It was not just taller, thicker, the lips were now pointed and jagged, the thorns were bifurcated, even triadic in places. No, it hadn't just grown, it had mutated.

With his jaw slack, Beast crouched and ran a finger upward, going with the grain of the spikes. Marveling at the changes, he spared a second to glance over his shoulder before grabbing the flowerpot and bringing it over to an examination table.

Placing the rose under the inspection of a table-top magnifying glass, Henry examined the petals in detail.

"How remarkable…" Even at a much smaller level, the signs of mutation were clear. Both the flower and the stalk had transformed, developing a hardened surface more resembling tree-bark.

"It's expressing more of Godzilla's features than I anticipated…"

Looking back to the window, speculations and theories began to extrapolate.

"It's not just the photosynthesis at work, the monster's DNA is responding to the solar radiation! A true hybrid of plant and animal."

He refocused the magnifying glass over the flower, and with his right hand, cradled the underside of the bloom to move it with slight adjustments. There wasn't perfect symmetry, but there was an order to the growth of the petals. The spikes rose and fell in serrated peaks, an almost imperceptible familiarity to its 'father'. Something was also happening to the style and stigma, it had closed, shut-up underneath a hard growth.

"What are you turning into?" Beast asked aloud, moving the optic away so he could bend forward to stare with his own eyes at his creation.

"Or should I ask: what have I turned you into? Is my little rosebud still there, or are you becoming my twisted little beauty?"

Sitting back, Beast let out a contemplative sigh as he scratched lazily at his chest.

"One thing is for certain… you will need new accommodations."

* * *

" **They going at it again huh?"**

Bobby Drake sat down beside Kitty Pryde at the edge of the pond, reaching a hand over his shoulder to create a backrest out of ice for him to lean on. A game of cat and mouse was playing out over the pond; Nightcrawler was teleporting to and fro in the air holding a concave metallic bowl against his chest. On the shore, Cyclops stood with a hand to his visor tracking his friend to each point, firing a quick shot of crimson at the improvised target.

"Yeah" Kitty groaned, raising an eyebrow. "You know Scott; can't take a break from training even after fighting a titanic alien monster. I think he's still bruised-up."

"I heard you guys cut it pretty close a few times, went all _'Fantastic Journey'_."

"I would have rather fought Blob and Toad in a handicap-match." Picking a pebble from among the blades of grass, she flicked it towards the water. "Though it was pretty fun. But what about here? You guys barely escaped with your lives!"

Bobby thought it over for a moment, remembering the mountainous scope of SpaceGodzilla as it commandeered the area with its glowing crystal spires. Their familiar patch of Connecticut countryside terraformed into a sinister alien palace.

More often than not he put on a bravado in the company of danger. Not just in the effort to save face among his fellow students and those he wanted to impress, but also to assure them that he was not a liability in stressful situations. His mentors risked so much just to give him a place to hone his powers without feeling like the world was staring at him constantly, and to give them any reason think of him as unworthy of the opportunity pressed down on him like a ton of ice.

"The SpaceGodzilla was pretty freaky." He said, holding his tongue to one side of his mouth in thought. "But you know, we're X-Men, we kicked its ass."

Kitty lunged out with a shove to his shoulder that toppled him over. "You are so full of crap, Bobby!" She scolded him with laughter.

"Hey!" Chuckling in turn, Drake reflexively shot a beam of frost, intending to pin her arms to her sides. But she phased through it just as fast, moving to wrestle the prone Iceman and being intercepted by his full guard. Giggling as they playfully struggled, they failed to notice the cloud of sulfuric smoke appearing beside them.

"Uh-uh! Save _ze_ canoodling for later you two!" Both teens craned their necks to look upwards and saw the smirking face of the pleasantly demonic Nightcrawler.

"Ca-what?!" Bobby and Kitty quickly and somewhat clumsily untangled themselves, she side-glanced Kurt with fictitious insult.

"Come on Bobby!" From his position on the bank, Cyclops swung his arms until his hands clapped in front of him. "Let's shoot some ice-skeet!"

* * *

" **So is that what Rogers' said?"**

Standing in front of the window that overlooked the western property, Logan's face twitched with pensive thoughts.

"About as much." Xavier answered, reclined in his seat. "You know how direct he likes to put things."

"That's him alright. Opposite of Fury."

"Which is probably why Steve gave me the call _sub rosa,_ Director Fury most likely didn't want to tell us that Erik is free because he knows we'd go on the hunt for him." Snatching a non-descript bottle of brown liquor from a nearby glass-paneled cabinet, he motored his chair over to the desk where a squat and sturdy glass was waiting.

"He's right to think that of course." Charles eyeballed the pour with a purse of the lips. "But, he is mistaken in that he imposes his own logic over mine."

"Going hard after Magneto would be a mistake." Logan took up the expensive glass and took an immodest swig before finishing his thought. "It'd be like the UN attack all over again, a goddamn shit-show. Bodies and rubble everywhere, whole world wantin' to put collars on us."

Taking back the decanter, Charles considered putting the stopper back in place, but reconsidered. "Erik no doubt believes that we are aware of his escape, he's keeping the Brotherhood quiet for now until he has a plan in place. Having been incarcerated for nearly a decade, there would be a lot of new factors for him to consider."

"And he's a real patient guy. Probably gonna hit us in a way we won't even see coming."

"That's my fear." Xavier ended the last word with a drawn-out sigh, taking a swig of his own directly from the bottle before he stuck the cap in.

Logan noticed the series of scratches on the left side of the Professor's desk, a reminder of the first day he had let Charles go into his mind to try and recover lost memories. It had the adverse effect of unearthing glimpses of the operation that bonded the liquid Adamantium to his skeleton. He lashed out in reflexive rage, claws flashing as his arms swung out.

"Jean really didn't miss any detail..." He said, marveling the degree of meticulousness with which the Phoenix had restored the mansion. "Didn't happen to fix the uneven table in my room, did she?"

"Maybe." The professor smiled, turning his chair and motoring towards the door. "The south-wing elevator is certainly a bit smoother. Now there's some footage downstairs I'd like you to take a look at."

"Something to do with giant monsters?" Wolverine asked hopefully, following behind.

"Not… unrelated." Stopping just on the other side of the threshold, Xavier turned to give his friend a rather serious look. "It has to do with Wanda."

* * *

 **With the onset of evening and the end** of daily classes, Beast opened the door to his lab with an unusual haste, still dressed in his professorial slacks and vest over a button-up. Over his left shoulder was slung his leather carry bag filled with files and student papers to review. In his right hand he carried what looked like a thermos, if it were designed by NASA and intended to survive the vacuum of space.

"How's my little girl doing?" Of course, the plant did not answer, nor did its abnormal spikes give any gesture of wellbeing.

"Let's move you someplace more comfortable."

The greenhouse served as one of the student facilities for both botanical studies and recreational activities. Set apart from the rest of the mansion, the glasshouse was positioned 30 yards from the pond and in a spot aligned with a break in the surrounding trees for the rising sun to reach it early. It had been Storm's pet project in the summer of 2002, a place for her to relax and tend her growing things.

With the sky a mix of orange and purple shades, the door to the greenhouse swung open with a light creak and Beast entered shoulder-first because his hands were full. He paused once he was facing inwards to see if he was alone, and finding he was, proceeded.

"I've got a nice little corner all picked out for you." He cooed, now cradling the experimental flower in the crook of his arm. "And plenty of space for you to grow into."

Setting down his other accessories, he carried the pet plant to the other end of the garden and set it down beside a much larger container. Normally used for bush plants beside doorways, the off-white box was already filled with dark soil, with a small hollow scooped in the center.

Carefully, he tilted the rose-pot to one side, giving the ceramic just enough of a shake to loosen its contents.

"Oh my…" When it finally parsed from the bowl, Beast saw that much of the soil had been replaced by twisting, thorn bearing roots. "Not an hour too soon I see."

He gently placed the coiled bundle in the hole and smoothed the empty spaces over with excess loam.

"There…" Patting the dirt like he was comforting a babe, he smiled tightly and gave the outer petals a brief caress. "A much better place for you than some sterile lab."

Retrieving the thermos-looking container, he held it at arm's length as he unscrewed the cap. "I took the liberty of acquiring a special drink for you I scooped from the reactor." He upended the container and poured out a few ounces of clear water, soaking it into the dirt at the base of the rose's stem.

"Not enough to poison your surroundings, but just enough that it should be a bit more nourishing for you than regular old tap water."

He replaced the cap while not taking his eyes away from the rose, wanting to touch it but knowing better. Instead he used a nearby rake to push the new pot closer to the glass wall. "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow. You just spread your legs and get comfy."

Satisfied that his pet was in an optimal position, he drug over a step-stool, and digging into his bag, took out the project file to record the alterations to the subject's condition. Next was a small digital camera he took a few shots with. "You might consider this a baby picture."

Packing his things away, his vision caught on the part of the data sheet where the name of the subject would go. Something tugged at him, a notion that the rose should have a proper name instead of just the nomenclature designation; BIO II: NUCLEI TEST

* * *

 **It began very faint** , like the yowling of a cat two streets over. The door to Jean Grey's room opened in the middle of the night, the half-asleep woman stepping out into the hall with her head tilted upwards. She was listening, but the sorrowful wail didn't seem to come from any auditory source, rather she was hearing it in her mind, a kind of psychic cry.

 _Ooaaaawwwwwwoooo…._

Again, it echoed out, barely above a whisper. This time she was able to discern a general direction. Jean glanced over her shoulder, seeing nothing in the shadowed hall other than the same adornments that were just as motionless in the daylight.

" _Should I wake the Professor?"_ She debated with a pensive bite of her lip. As she raised a foot to step in the direction of Xavier's room, the sound came again, impulsively, she retracted her foot. There was an inexplicable pull acting on her, something that drew her in the opposite direction.

Jean stepped barefoot out onto the back lawn, a bright waning moon casting her in an ethereal glow, her long pastel blue bedshirt billowing in the gentle breeze.

 _Ooaaaawwwwwwoooo…._

There was something empathetic in the call, sad, in pain.

" _It's the greenhouse…"_ She realized, turning her head towards the structure, the upper-left corner of it highlighted in the moonlight.

Entering the glass room, her eyes roved about the dark shapes, taking in the warm smell of rich earth and plant life. Dried leaves crunched under foot as she passed, striding carefully towards the opposite end of the space. Coming to the last row of racks upon which sat dozens of different pots, she spied the large container sitting against the wall.

The red petals of the rose seemed eerily luminous in the dark, accented by the tips of the thorns climbing the stem. Though changed from the last time she had seen it, there was no mistaking the voluptuous bud.

"Is that Henry's flower?" She whispered to herself, face pinching in confusion. "What's happened to it?"

With what little moonlight streamed in through the windows, Jean knelt and laid her hands on the corners of the planter. Leaning forward, she stared intently.

 _Ooaaaawwwwwwoooo…_

"Ahh!" Jean stumbled back, the origin of the wail this time coming from right in front of her. Startled eyes gawked from where she lay on her backside, recoiled from the deceptive rose. What frightened her most however, was the piercing intensity of the cry inside her own head, like blasting the volume of guitar feedback on headphones.

Rising to her feet, she walked out of the greenhouse with a much quicker pace than when she had entered.

Near the corner of the box where Jean had put her right hand, the soil birthed a green tendril. Upon emerging, it reached out and laid itself softly on the surface of the corner.

* * *

 **Morning came without any significant event**. The students arose, attended their personal hygiene to varying degrees, and prepared themselves for the day's routine.

"Morning, Scott." Beast said as he ambled down the hall. In passing, Scott Summers gave his friend a pat on the back having just come back indoors from his early jog. Wearing sweatpants and black tank top, he dabbed his forehead with a towel and began thinking about the comfortable shower he was heading towards.

" _Scott, come to my office."_ The voice of Professor Xavier in his head gave no hint of a casual request.

"Of course." Rubbing the towel over his arms with a sigh, Scott took a hard turn right.

* * *

 **Wolverine and Xavier were already waiting** for him when Cyclops entered the room. They were watching a television that hung at the border of the left wall and ceiling. Charles pointed to the screen. "This happened 30 minutes ago."

It was a news feed playing on screen, and as Scott positioned for a better look, he saw the aftermath of a tragedy being broadcast.

"— _counts nearly 15 people dead in the explosion. First responders are still searching for survivors. But as far as witness reports, we understand the attack began with the box truck in the reception area, and was followed by three of four gunmen hunting down—"_

"A terrorist attack in Michigan." Muting the television, Xavier began his own brief. "A community center run by a group of mutants and mutant allies was attacked. It began with a box truck driven right into a crowd of people before detonating. Then, as you heard, gunmen appeared to continue the attack by killing anyone still standing. The whole thing transpired in just under a minute before the perpetrators fled."

"Dear god…" Was all Scott could say, covering his mouth.

"Not quite." Charles corrected. "Though no-one has officially claimed responsibility for the attack, I have reason to believe the culprits are a group of religious extremists who call themselves 'The Purifiers'."

"Like the Church of Humanity, only Islamic" Wolverine tossed Scott a flyer. "Came across this on my way back down, thought I'd have Chuck take a look at it. Couldn't read it, but the imagery was pretty clear."

Holding it for inspection, Summers noted that amidst the Arabic script, was pictures of famous mutants, including the Professor and Beast.

"They're Islamic fundamentalists." Xavier continued. "And from what I've been able to discern from the leaflet, see themselves as being in a holy Jihad against mutants, or as they like to call us: 'children of Shaitan', their term for-"

"The devil. Yeah, I get it." Scott threw the flyer away from him in disgust. "So what are we gonna do about it?" The question was asked with the grit of demand.

"First…" Motoring to his desk, Xavier took a fountain pen from its holder, and used it to write blankly on the desk pad. "We need to find out who these people really are." A wall panel to his left moved back and out of view to expose a hidden pathway. "I'm going to try and use Cerebro to locate some members."

"Then what?" Scott's impatience showed in his voice, somewhat irritated by how calm the Professor was being.

Logan stepped into his field if view, his eyes seething with the same anger.

"Then we go in and start putting these assholes down."

* * *

 **Humming merrily to himself as he prepared his desk** for the first class of the morning, Beast anticipated a thought-provoking discussion of 19th century philosophers. He was then pleasantly surprised by the arrival of Jean Grey poking her head into the room.

"Good morning, Jean." He smiled.

She wasn't so chipper. "Hey, Henry.. Can uh, can we talk?"

"Absolutely, come on in." Concerned by her demeanor, Beast abandoned his material and gestured to one of the half-desks as he walked around to meet her.

She sat down, giving her friend a curious but wary expression as he crouched next to her. "What is it?" He asked.

"What did you do to your rose?"

The bluntness of the question caught him off guard, he stammered a response. "Well-I, w-what do you mean?"

Jean fixed in on his eyes. "I saw your rose in the greenhouse last night, it was mutated into something… else."

Straightening his back, McCoy nodded in confession. "You're right, I have taken new steps in my experiment. Due to unexpected results, I decided to move it out to the greenhouse." His face pinched. "But I don't see why a few extra thorns should give you cause for such a concern."

"It's not that Beast, it's…" Jean searched for the words. "It- I heard it calling out last night."

At this he was truly dumbfounded, blinking vacantly as the information processed. "You… you heard my rose… calling out? Like, it made a noise?"

"I know it sounds bizarre but, given everything else we deal with. At first, I didn't know what it was, but I heard it in my head, like a psychic echo. I followed it from my room out to the greenhouse, it was coming from your flower. I don't know why, but it just felt so sad."

" _Could it be an effect of Godzilla's DNA?"_ Beast wondered. _"He does possess a degree of psychic power… But why would it be sad?"_

"It was just, beyond unnerving, Henry. I've got to know what you did to it." Jean took his paw in her hands, gripping the muscled digits tenderly. "I can't shake this feeling in my head."

He saw the anxiety in her eyes and couldn't bring himself to deceive her. "Ok…"

The sound of students on the other side of the door interrupted the tension of the moment. "Come find me during lunch, dear." Beast told her as he stood. "And I'll tell you everything."

* * *

 **Xavier concentrated in the heart of Cerebro** , Scott and Logan standing a few paces behind him. Though the ambient light in the chamber was white, in the mindscape of the Professor, his world was bathed in clouds of dark purple, like an expanded view of some paranormal galaxy.

He was surrounded by silhouettes of people standing in a shadowy forest, animated in whatever activity they were doing on the material plane. Voices in all tones reverberated over one another like multiple ripples bouncing off each other, creating a cacophony of unintelligible, muffled speakers.

" _Where are you…"_ Charles wondered, searching for one voice in all the many to utter something that would give an indication of any foreknowledge of the attack. Sorting through the voices was a meticulous task, like listening to a dozen different audiobooks at once waiting for one particular word to be spoken.

Plenty of people were talking about what had happened. One woman who had lost a son this morning couldn't get two words out without breaking into sobs. A policeman driving back to his station couldn't hold back a string of obscenities to describe how angry he was to his partner. A news anchor standing offstage was going over his notes on the names of the dead and asking with practiced familiarity if there were any updates on suspects.

Emotions often clouded thoughts, making Xavier's effort more difficult. That's why he was seeking out those minds who were calm, perhaps tinged with cathartic satisfaction.

" _Wait… there…"_ Dearborn, Michigan, home to one of the country's most prominent Muslim communities. He didn't like the implication, especially given his own history with combating stereotypes. But it was what it was, unpleasant or not.

"… _served well."_ He heard a man say.

Charles' brow pinched, focusing in on the source. Shifting shadows parsed on either side until one remained. Standing by himself, a bearded man in loose clothing spoke, hands behind his back and gazing down through a window as a television played behind him.

"… _oday will be a first demonstration, that our Jihad against the mutant demons will not be stopped."_

"Bingo." Taking off the Cerebro helm, Xavier motioned for Logan and Scott to step close.

"Found him?" Wolverine asked.

"He doesn't know who the leader of the Purifiers is, or what their next move is going to be, but he's a good place to start." Placing a hand on the sides of their heads, Professor X imprinted them with the name and address of the man in the vision. It was a matter of a few seconds before the process was complete.

"This isn't something I want to bring the whole team in on." Scott frowned.

"No, you two may want to reach out to some friends for help with this one." Charles had a few suggestions in mind, but this was their mission to run.

"Betsy" Was the first name out of Logan's mouth.

"Yup." Scott agreed with a short nod.

"You two get to it, we need to put a stop to these people before any more innocent lives are lost."

Cyclops and Wolverine were experienced leaders, needing no further direction to initiate mission preparations. Watching them leave, Charles was glad to see men who had been at each other's throats more than once being able to work together so smoothly. It seemed to him that they just got tired of being adversaries, even granting the occasional barb.

A hair raised on the back of his neck, like a cold breeze had run across the nape. He instinctively glanced to his left, searching for the cause of such an odd phenomenon, but saw nothing but the inner wall of the chamber.

* * *

" **Right here, Kitty!"** Dani Moonstar dashed laterally to intercept the Frisbee, catching it by the tips of her fingers as she stumbled unexpectedly.

"You almost ate it on that one!" Pryde said, cupping both hands around her mouth.

"It wasn't me!" looking to the lawn with annoyance, Dani wiggled her right foot. "I tripped on this stupid root!"

Locating the offending rhizome, she noticed the peculiar texture and coloration. "The heck is this?" She knelt down and ran a finger over it, then slipped under and gave it a little pull.

"Eep!" Dani drew back and clutched her hand to her chest when the root reacted.

"What happened?" Running over at the sound of her friend's alarm, Kitty put an arm around her younger teammate and followed her gaze towards the ground. "I've never seen that before…"

Katherine made to reach for it, but Dani grasped her arm to keep her back. "No, don't touch it!" She warned. "It's not normal."

"Neither are we." Pryde reminded her with a taste of rebuke in her tone. She knelt and laid a finger on the root gently, and as before it twitched at the stimuli of touch. Kitty lifted her finger away briefly before laying it back down, treating it like a cautious animal. This second time, the tuber remained calm to the contact, settling down into its groove.

"Where is it from?" Dani asked, leaning over Kitty's shoulder.

Lowering her head, Kitty set her gaze up the incline of the terrain and saw the backside of the greenhouse not very far away. The notion was clear, however dubious it might be. The fact remained however that this was a place where the inexplicable and fantastic was par the course.

" _But where is it going?"_

Switching directions, she extended the path of travel and followed it to the pond.

* * *

" **Look for anything out of the ordinary."** Kitty said as she and Dani entered the greenhouse. "Well you know, relatively out of the ordinary."

"One of those, 'you'll know it when you see it' type of things." Her friend replied rhetorically.

Their searches diverged, Pryde breaking to the right and Dani moving straight down the center aisle. The rows were divided by type, herbs, flowers, etc. Moonstar paused to sniff some lavender blossoms, nuzzling her nose deep to get a full, rich scent.

In was in the peace of her enjoyment that she heard something. She wasn't even sure she it was anything at first, but the instinctual alertness to the possibility of danger convinced her to move on with her investigation.

"Find anything yet?" Katherine called out from where she perused a row of planters aligned on the wall, inspecting the ferns and thick leaves.

"Checking the back, I-whoa…" Dani stopped when she reached the end of the tables and beheld the botanical anomaly growing wild in its own container. "Pretty sure I found it."

The rose was now far larger, the stem a foot and a half long and three inches thick, the texture hardened and covered in jagged thorns. The flower was now the size of a grown sunflower head, centered by a strange gold-colored organ, and facing towards the outside instead of upwards.

The roots however had overgrown, two overlapped the edge of the planter, three more had burst through the sides and begun to grip around nearby objects.

Kitty arrived and stood beside Dani, just as enthralled by the sight. "Yeah, I think 'whoa' hits it right on the money."

Crouching down, the girls examined the monstrous bud, staring wide-eyed at the menacing advertisement of botanical belligerence.

"Maybe it's a transplant from the Savage Land." Dani speculated.

"Or maybe some spore from Godzilla's world got through to ours." Suggested Kitty.

"Oh man, something like this could definitely displace native species, dominate the local flora, I mean look at this thing!" Prying lightly at the tendril coiled around the closest table leg, Danielle found more muscle than expected was needed to contest it. "Left unchecked, there'd be whole forests of this thing."

"None of these roots are going through the floor…" Wondering out loud, Katherine searched among the exposed limbs for one that could be the source of the root they discovered outside. "Is there one I can't see?"

She attempted to move the planter, but it refused to budge. "Wha-?" Made of ceramic, even full of dirt she should have been strong enough to at least shove it aside a bit.

Phasing her body, she stuck herself halfway into the floor. When she came back up her face was in shock. "It's broken through the concrete!"

"What are you two doing?" At the sound of the voice, both girls pivoted around to see Beast and Jean Grey standing in the center aisle.

Kitty stood and quickly pointed to the mysterious plant. "There's a monster flower in here! Where'd this thing come from?"

"Monster?" Sounding wounded, Beast adjusted his glasses.

"My god!" Jean said with a gasp as they saw what had become of the rose. "It's grown!"

"This is uh, beyond expectations…" Beast almost shouldered through the girls to get closer to his project, shaking a clipboard out of his satchel and letting the bag fall to the floor.

"It's rate of growth is incredible." His eyes darted between the plant and his paperwork.

Peeking at the mostly hand-scrawled notes, Moonstar read the subject designation. _BIOIINT._

"What's 'Bio _llente_?'" she asked.

"Bio-what?" Beast rephrased the word, confused by its sudden creation.

"There." Dani pointed to the term near the top of the sheet and pronounced the letters phonetically. "Bio-lln-t, Biollente, Biollante. Is that it?"

Doc McCoy held the paper up, starkly realizing the separate components of the project title were close enough to be mistaken for the same word. "Huh…"

While the others were fascinated by the flower's development, Jean couldn't help but feel the magnetism between herself and the mutation. Part of her felt like it was staring back, experiencing the same radiant perception as she was. Stepping forward, Jean raised a hand, like reaching out to pet a dog.

Unnoticed by any of them, was the further coiling of the tendril around the leg of the table like a python. Twisting with such pressure the metal began to warp.

The hairs on Beast's neck stood on-end as the shadow of Jean's hand passed near him, eliciting his feral intuition to snap in response.

"Jean, what are you doing?" Turning to see Grey mesmerized, he let his left arm drift closer to the plant.

Kitty's panicked voice cut through the entrancement. "Beast! Look out!"

He glanced back at Kitty, not realizing where the danger was coming from. "What do-"

The green vine, rising from where it sat on the edge of the planter lashed out to snatch Beast's wrist and yanked him in with remarkable strength.

"Good heavens!" He yelped, bracing against the planter with his other hand. Kitty swiftly grabbed hold of McCoy's arm and phased it through the tendril to free him. The four of them recoiled, Moonstar and Beast both throwing arms around Jean to pull her away.

The shelves to their left toppled over as the vine broke the leg away, sending dozens of pots crashing onto the floor.

"Professor!" Dani cried. "Where did that _thing_ come from?!"

"It didn't-" He stammered, a dizzying amount of questions flying through his mind. "I mean it's not from anywhe-"

The concrete under their feet began to rumble, a lightning-bolt fissure tearing through the floor and racing towards them.

Kitty began shoving the others in the direction of the exit. "Get out!" She barked. Beast was astonished, moving but still checking over his shoulder to see the flower turn to face them.

" _It's sentient…"_ He realized.

Jean's head was still in a fog, unable to turn away from the plant even as the others ushered her along.

" _Ooaaaawwwwwwoooo…!"_ This time, the cry was not just psychic. All four of them were forced to cover their ears to defend against the high-piercing wail.

"It's angry!" Jean grunted, leaning her body on McCoy. "And afraid!"

* * *

 **Professor Xavier was just joining Wolverine and Cyclops** in the underground hanger when the sound reached even them. Charles stopped where he was, holding his head with both hands to withstand the pain. Wolverine too bared his teeth in irritation. Seeing them both react to an unseen happening, Summers' body tensed to jump into action.

"Rah!" Logan snarled, his face contorted in a grimace, his ears sensitive enough to feel the audible sting. "The hell is making that noise!"

"Something's wrong." Xavier muttered, concentrating on discovering the scream's genesis. "I think it's Jean!"

Being just days removed from a manifestation of the enigmatic Phoenix Force, the possibility of another flare-up was cause enough for the three of them to head for the elevator.

* * *

 **On the road that led past the property** , an older model pick-up truck came to a casual halt. It was off-white with maroon accents and decals, and a matching camper shell.

"Hadha hu almakan alsahiuh?"

"Hadha hu ma hu malhuz ealaa GPS"

The two men in the cab both took a few extra seconds to check the GPS device held by the passenger.

"Nahn hna! The driver banged a fist on the rear window. "Adhhb! Adhhb! Adhhb!"

The camper shell flipped open, peeling back from the front to stand straight up on the hinged back end. In the bed were two other men wearing cheap blue jumpsuits and black masks that concealed all but the mouth and eyes. Between them was a homemade mortar tube installed directly into the truck.

Within seconds one of them had a shell in his hand and dropped it down the muzzle. They hunkered down just before the mini-artillery launched the projectile with a _TOOMPH!_ The other man repeated the process with his own shell, beginning a smooth flow of fires and reloads.

* * *

 **Both groups were on course to meet** on the back lawn, Wolverine out ahead of Cyclops and Xavier, Beast acting as rear-guard for the girls.

"You kids alright?" Logan asked the teenagers, shepherding them past him.

"We're fine." Assured Kitty, assembling with the others as they caught-up. "It's that weird plant Beast is growing in the greenhouse!"

Cyclops seized Jean in his arms as soon as he could. "The Professor said something was wrong, is it-?"

"No, it's not me Scott. Henry… created something, and I think I know how."

"Henry?" Xavier could read the anxiety on his friend's feral face. "Tell me what's going on."

"I uh…" Clenching his teeth, McCoy steeled his nerve. "I've been experimenting with something that… I'm afraid has gotten out of my control."

Passing Jean to the care of Dani and Kitty, Cyclops began to make his way towards the green house, only to be stopped by an outstretched arm from Wolverine.

"Wait…"

The whistling began low, but both Logan and Beast's ears pricked to it. Years past, Wolverine had heard this sound more often that any one person would care to, and long-dormant reflexes surged to the fore.

"INCOMING!" He screamed, turning to leap and throw his body over those of the females.

The first mortar impacted 60 yards away, leaving a crater in the driveway, sending students scrambling for their lives towards the mansion. Another came down a few meters closer to the house, fortunately destroying nothing but the integrity of some soil.

Now alert to the threat, Cyclops spied the next shell, little more than a black spot moving almost too fast to catch. But his hand went to his visor, and a thin red beam intercepted the round, detonating it before it could land.

"Get the students underground!" Every student at the institute was drilled in emergency cases, which included the mansion coming under attack. The underground bunker was designed to withstand the destruction of the mansion and had actually survived the SpaceGodzilla.

Another explosion in the air was thanks to the quick-draw of Cyclops, the volatile nature of his energy beam serving to obliterate most of the shrapnel. Even so, a few hot bits peppered the façade of a top-story window.

Jean refused to leave Scott behind, and standing behind him, threw up her arms to create a telekinetic shell around them both. The others fled to the building, Beast ripping Xavier out of his chair and carrying him bodily for the sake of speed.

Another shell was on trajectory to land on the far side of the mansion, so it took Scott an extra half-second to judge his aim. And while he managed to catch it in time, it distracted him from something else. Several green roots emerged from the ground, rising straight up in front of him.

"GAH!" Scott yelped, watching the vines twist together to form a rope about a foot and a half thick. "Jean! is that what you were talking about?"

She gasped when she turned and saw the fibrous column on the other side of her boyfriend, terrified that the creature sought to harm him in some way. It was due to this distraction that Scott missed the last mortar round.

The greenhouse erupted in a firestorm, glass and metal shards shooting in a million directions. The column of vines quivered and split apart, the tendrils collapsing to the ground.

 **The attackers on the truck** pulled the camper shell down as the vehicle accelerated, dirt clouds produced by the spinning tires in their haste to get away.

"Namal qutilna eadad qalil minhum!" The driver exclaimed, his voice and nerves trembling with adrenaline.

His passenger pounded the inside of the door, thrilled that their mission had gone off perfectly. "Nem fieala! Allahu Akbar! Rubama hataa shaytan X- Men!"

"Allahu Akbar!" They both shouted joyously. "Allahu Akbar!"

 **Skidding to a halt at the perimeter of the crater** , Jean and Scott saw that the greenhouse had been destroyed and everything in it either obliterated or shredded by debris. The valiant effort of the concrete foundation did all it could to keep two of the walls intact, though it had suffered a catastrophic shattering.

"It was the rose." Jean said, seeing the spot where the planter had been annihilated. "Henry had this, mutated rose here and…"

"Is that what came out of the ground?" There was a curious sympathy in his voice, not understanding why it seemed to strike such a chord with her, but seeing that it did nonetheless. "An extension of this rose that had everyone so worried? Thank God no-one was hurt."

Rushing through the front doors of the mansion, Scott and Jean were met by throngs of terrified students clustering the main foyer. Upon seeing the senior staff, at least a dozen of them surged to mob the two with questions.

"Where'd the Professor go?" Cyclops asked in an authoritative voice to cut through the clamor, holding up his hands. A few pointed in the direction of the elevator to the lower levels, indicating that he had gone back to Cerebro.

"Alright, everybody just remain clam and get to the safe room." Spotting Bobby Drake near the main staircase, Scott pointed to him. "Bobby, make sure they all get in there and keep an eye on them, got it?"

"Got it, Scott!" Taking charge, Drake shouldered his way through the crowd, waving his arm towards the west wing. "Come on! This way!"

* * *

 **Leaping over the property fence** , Logan crouched low and sniffed the air, all his sense on a hair-trigger.

 _Exhaust…_

He sniffed again.

 _Cordite…_

Savage fangs clenched, a boiling hatred for whoever had carried out the attack on the institute. Searching eyes located the skid marks left by the getaway vehicle, giving him a direction to start tracking.

"They were on the old south road." He growled out loud, knowing the Professor could hear him.

" _I'll contact Fury."_ Xavier answered telepathically. _"Get satellite images of what kind of vehicle they used."_

"I've heard of this kind of thing before, Chuck. Drive up, launch a few shells from the bed of a truck, then take right off."

" _Remarkably effective and simple."_ He had to admit. There was no doubt in Charles' mind that the so called 'Purifiers' were behind this, employing tactics familiar to many guerilla fighters from the Mujahideen to the IRA. _"In the meantime, I have Beast and Kitty searching through local traffic and security cameras."_

"It's a start."

Dropping down on the outside of the fence, Dani Moonstar saw Logan kneeling on the dirt road, gaze cast westward.

"Think you can give us something?" He asked her.

"I'll try, but I'm not super good with this yet." Dani walked to the tire marks and sat down cross-legged between the tracks. She closed her eyes, exhaled slowly, and began to concentrate.

He had heard about what this girl was capable of, but never saw it in action. Logan waited, and sure enough, after a few moments a translucent image began to fade into existence. Pinkish in color at the edges of the shape, it developed into the outline of a pick-up truck with an open camper shell parked directly where she sat, like a picture coming into focus.

"Huh…" Logan remarked. "How the hell do you do that?"

"I can tap into residual thoughts and emotional impressions left behind by people. These guys were pumped with adrenaline, makes it a little easier for me."

As more lines and edges filled in the gaps, Wolverine could actually recognize the make and model of the vehicle.

"I know this type of truck." He said. "Can you throw in some colors?"

Dani shook her head, eyes still closed. "Sorry, just shapes."

Crouching near the back, Logan waited for a few more details to come into place. When the outline of the license plate clarified, he smirked.

"Xavier, here's the truck they used."

Seated in Cerebro, Professor X looked through Wolverine's eyes to see what Moonstar had brought into being and accessed the bit of memory that told him it was a mid-90's Ford.

" _I'll let the others know what to look for."_

"Chuck, I'm gonna get my bike." Walking over to the side of the image, he stared hard at the men frozen in time, loading the mortar tube. "When they get a fix on these sons-a-bitches, you just point me in a direction, and I'll take care of the rest."

" _Logan, it is imperative that we get information from these men. We need at least one to talk."_

"I'll bring one back, and he'll spill his guts. One way or another."

* * *

" **I don't think I need to beat the matter** over your head, Charles." Still working at his computer, Beast was sorting through still images taken from traffic cameras. Each shot featured a vehicle that resembled the model of the one that had ferried the attackers. "But if Erik decides he wants to make an example of these extremists-"

"Then it will likely be a bloodbath that we can do nothing about." Xavier hated to think that someone who he had spent years trying to stop might be the most potent weapon against the Purifiers. Fighting fire with fire, burning everything in their path to cinders.

"If it comes to it, we might have to fight them both."

McCoy raised an eyebrow at the suggestion, having to war on two fronts in some insane 3-way clash. But despite the necessary focus on the matter at hand, he couldn't shake the guilt over the life-form he had so arrogantly created. It depressed him to think that he had brought something to conscious life just in time to be incinerated by an act of fanatical hatred. And he had only just begun to realize the potential of what it was becoming.

" _Biollante…"_ He mused silently, recalling the queer name that Dani had derived from the shorthand of the subject title. _"It does seem to roll off the tongue, doesn't it?"_

Xavier could sense the troubled thoughts of his friend even without actively probing. There was a sort of radiant psyche that each person emitted, not unlike the concept of an aura.

"Henry…" Charles began, altering his tone from pensive to empathetic. "When we met you out on the lawn, you told me that an experiment of yours had gotten out of control. Just what were you doing?"

Beast's fingers ceased their work on the computer controls, hovering above the buttons. "You know I won't lie to you, my friend. Though I do fear I may disappoint you with my lack of proper foresight."

Cupping his hands over his mouth and nose, he took a deep breath. "It began with a parcel I received from Reed Richards."

The longer Xavier listened to his friend explain the course of events, his jaw slowly dropping, the more he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

* * *

 **The maroon and white truck pulled into the old parking lot** with a squeal of the breaks. Left untouched for the most part, it was one of those asphalt patches that featured long weeds growing from cracks in the ground like varicose veins. A rusted chain link fence surrounded the perimeter like a cordon of tetanus, it was one of the many lots abandoned to the elements and those who didn't value much what they left parked in it.

In the shadow of a defunct and hollowed-out manufacturing plant, the four men exited the vehicle. The two that had ridden in the back tore out of their cheap blue jumpsuits, throwing them and the ski-masks back into the bed. Grabbing a squared red jug from behind the cab's backrest, the front passenger unscrewed the black cap. All four were in nondescript street clothes, prepared ahead of time for melting into obscurity.

"You really think that will be enough?" The driver asked, checking over his shoulder for any bystanders.

"The man said we might not need even half of this stuff. It's basically like rocket fuel."

"Just hurry up and start splashing that stuff around!" One of the mortar-men warned, growing visibly impatient. To emphasize his point, he gestured to the open road where another vehicle might come through any minute. They weren't the only ones who liked to take advantage of the discretion of the location.

Tossing the cap aside, he began dousing the outside of the truck with the translucent, greenish fluid. A splatter in the cab, along the sides, a dash in the bed, all the way around, and a good shot on the pavement underneath. He made a thin trail leading away from the truck before chucking the container in the bed, ricocheting it off the underside of the camper shell.

Striking a match, the other mortar-man dropped it onto the end of the accelerant trail. Immediately the flame took and raced along the line to where the rest of it pooled.

"Let's go!" The driver barked jostling the nearest man to move. No sooner had the four of them begun to disperse in different directions, then a storm of fire consumed the truck in bright flames. Within seconds the tires popped, metal started to melt, and the gasoline in the tank ignited as well.

Very quickly and very efficiently, the truck was reduced to molten slag. By the time night had fallen in earnest, it was unrecognizable.

* * *

 **A duo of motorcycles sped away from the Xavier Institute** , Logan leading Summers as they set out on their hunt. Provided with a general idea of where the men had gone that Kitty and Beast had managed to piece together from a number of camera feeds, they'd been tracked across state lines into Rhode Island.

The rest of them meanwhile were playing host to a number of agents from the FBI, Homeland Security, and SHIELD. Much to the disappointment of a few of the students, Agent Macon, the one who had seen them through the SpaceGodzilla ordeal, was not among them.

As the lights of the mansion illuminated the night, teams of forensic analysis teams scoured the property to examine the craters and search for shrapnel.

A flashlight beam walked slowly over the pond, a lone FBI agent standing at the edge, doing a cursory check.

"This place freaks me out." Me muttered, knowing he was in a place where the borderline supernatural occurred.

Shuddering, he clicked off the light and turned his back.

 _Splunk..._

With a sharp nasal inhalation, he whipped around, casting his light over the water once more. His free hand went to the grip of his sidearm, prepared to draw it in a heartbeat. As he moved the beam further out, it was then he saw the object sprouting on the surface.

It reminded him of a waterlily, only this flower was as big around as an innertube float and sticking at least three feet out of the water. The crimson flower was set atop a quartet of dark green, jagged leaves.

"Man, they got some weird decorations." He took a step closer to get a slightly better view. So absorbed by the far object, he never noticed the silent ascension of the vine from the water directly in front of him.

His arm outstretched with the flashlight, it was seized by the vine, crushing the ulnas and radius bones easily. Just as he opened his mouth to scream, he was pulled off his feet and dragged under the surface with a splash.

A few moments later, and his body was lifted from the water by a trio of vines, his arms pinned to his sides by a tendril, neck and head twisted at an unnatural angle with only one eye peeking out. They brought him closer to the flower, holding him above.

His breath was tightly controlled under the pressure on his chest cavity, absolute terror wracking his mind. Under the moonlight, he was able to see the organ in the center of the rose: the interlocking, spiked fangs.

" _Ooaaaawwwwwwoooo-ruuuuuuggh!…"_


	5. Fantastic 4: Contamination -pt1-

" **I will personally fuck-up your day."**

Those were the emphatic and very sincere last words SHIELD Director Nick Fury spoke to Reed Richards at the end of the debrief. At least once a day they wandered into Reed's conscious thought for a moment of rumination.

After being taken into SHIELD custody for his part in the genesis of the Kaiju invasion, he had spent the next two days carefully explaining everything he knew to Director Fury and a small army of nameless witnesses.

What might have saved him from weeks-more worth of questioning and headaches, was the fact that there was no evidence that the machine created by McCoy, Stark, and himself had anything to do with how the malevolent Kaiju arrived. Gigan, Orga, SpaceGodzilla, and King Ghidorah all arrived via means unknown and at separate times and places.

It was true, Reed was forced to admit, that it was a virtual certainty that their intrusion and the entry of Mothra and Godzilla were somehow related. However, what the connection was between the two means remained a mystery. He argued that Godzilla's trespass was pure chance, and Mothra's a direct reaction to that. The forces behind the alien kaiju suggested the hand of another actor or actors.

As such was Fury's conclusion as well. However, that didn't save Reed from getting the most severe ass-chewing he'd ever received in his life. It was made clear to him, in no uncertain terms, that any future escapades to or from the other side of the wall was to be supervised by him personally. Any breach of these conditions or other unapproved shenanigans would not be tolerated, the consequences put succinctly.

The director, being a man of consummate pragmatism, decided to offer Mr. Fantastic something useful to put his mind towards.

 **MUCH LATER AFTER GODZILLA**

Looking down at his clipboard of notes, Reed Richards exhaled with the same mundane huff of breath that had kept him company these past several weeks. Or had it been months?

Glancing up at the dark chamber surrounding him, and the multiple holographic images floating in the artificial ether. Shapes like celestial nebulae hover and rotated around him, smoky purple in hue and frozen in motion. _Months_ , he realizes. " _I've been at this for months, and still no closer."_

On the various sheets attached to his board was the information pertaining to each of the formations. The one that appeared in the streets of New York had been reconstructed from SHIELD satellite telemetrics monitoring terrestrial energy spikes. This was where they deduced Orga had been inserted.

The next was modeled using SWORD data on the anomaly over Beijing, where the Gigan first appeared. The third, a combination of SWORD telemetrics and video footage of where the SpaceGodzilla manifested seemingly out of nowhere. All of them presented with the same characteristics and energy signatures; evidence if not proof he thought, of a hidden hand at work.

But who or what could it be? What power could be capable of transporting them? What could be their motivation?

A series of soft bleeps and boops signaled the ongoing process of his computer systems analyzing the data of the anomalies. The computer itself was the chamber. Inspired by the design of Xavier's Cerebro machine and Tony Stark's JARVIS AI; Richards built his machine with a connection to a neutral transmitter, allowing him to control it with a mere thought. Connected by a set of nodes attached just behind his ears, he tentatively called it ' _THINKER'_.

His eyes swung from one model to another, the image rotating, expanding, focusing, changing filter.

A circular door behind Reed opened, a bright white light illuminating the walkway. The angular sections of the door twisted towards an outer rim to allow a well-dressed man to walk in, a gold-trimmed crimson cape trailing his footfalls.

"Nothing yet?" Asked Dr. Stephen Strange, holding a leather-bound and yellow-paged tome in his hands, his focus on the content rather than what was in front of him.

"Nope." Not distracted by the arrival of the Sorcerer Supreme, Richards tilted his head as the model of the SpaceGodzilla portal changed from shades of blue to red. "Energy from the other side is bleeding through, but the process is definitely controlled, or else the dimension and duration would vary randomly." He sighed. "And we've still no model of the portal Ghidorah entered through, though I don't imagine it would be terribly different. How's your end?"

"Nothing too specific." Closing the book with a _WHUMP_!, Strange massaged his goatee with a contemplative hand. "But… if I may…"

With a flex of his fingers and movement of his hands, the amulet slung around his neck opened, and the Eye of Agamotto gazed widely at the same gaseous cluster. Now the portal cloud poured with a shimmering negative energy, waves of translucent white pulsating in the trans-dimensional exit wound.

"What you're seeing there…" He said with a gesture of an open palm in the direction of the model in example. "Think of it like a magical fingerprint, a signature left behind by whatever entity has been meddling in the fabric of space-time."

"Does it tell you anything?"

"It can tell you a lot. If you know what you're looking at."

Reed's brow furrowed. "Which you… don't?"

"Unfortunately, no." Strange sighed, dipping his head as the Eye of Agamotto closed. "I've never seen anything like it before, and there's nothing in my in-house library about it. My educated guess, given the inexplicable yet very powerful nature of the magic, is that it's old, very old."

"Is that you're prognosis doctor?" Reed asked.

"It is. I've got a few other libraries I can check, the other sanctums, K'un-Lun. I've got a feeling I'll be exercising my ancient Hyborean script muscles on this one."

"Sounds like you have your work cut out for you." The sly smirk on Richard's face betrayed the gag.

Picking up on this, Strange raised an eyebrow. "Oh, shouldn't be too much of a stretch for me."

Reed's grin broke into a smile as he reached out to extend a hand. "Doctor."

"Doctor." Stephen returned as the men shook friendly hands before departing.

Left to his own thoughts when the sections of the door twisted around the center and closed with a _SHUNT_ that echoed in the darkness.

"Magic huh?" He questioned, glancing back to the altered portal which remained pulsating with negative colors. "Nothing that can't be figured out."

 **2249 hrs.**

 **HELL'S KITCHEN**

 **12** **TH** **AVE PIERS**

A non-descript white van pulled off the road and onto the pier, streetlights overhead going dark as it traveled.

"Lights are down." The passenger said, the glowing screen of a handheld device the only source of illumination in the cab, his voice slightly modulated.

"Shouldn't be long." Replied the driver, his voice deeper but carrying the same alteration. "Just a milk-run."

The van swerved to the left to begin a Y-turn and backed the rest of the way down the pier, neither the brake lights or reverse alarm activating. Reaching the end of the wharf, they stopped a few feet from the edge, close enough to make quick work of their task. Exiting the vehicle and coming around to the back, the two AIM technicians opened the double-doors. Within, were two black metal barrels marked on the top with taped-on placards.

"Is it just me? Or has the Scientist Supreme been acting weird ever since those monsters came through?"

"You know, I have noticed some of the higher-ups get real nervous at any mention of those things."

While the two conversed, the driver grasped the drum on the left and spun it on its base, his companion grasping the bottom. Working in tandem, they lifted the drum.

"I even heard the head-honcho's been obsessed with what happened."

"Ha!" The other snickered. "Head". He muttered.

With a single heave the barrel was tossed away and into the water, quickly sinking below the surface.

"Alright, so this one…" Ducking down to enter the back of the van, the driver checked the placard fixed to the other barrel. "Uh-oh."

"What uh-oh?"

Placing a hand on the remaining drum, the driver turned. "This is the non-sentient sample. This is the one we were-supposed to dump in the water. That one was supposed to go to the farm in Queens." He said pointing to the water.

For a moment the other froze, then he pivoted towards where they had just tossed in the first container, then back to the van, then again to the water. "Well that's not good."

"So… What do we do?"

Extrapolations of ploys, explanations, and possible consequences raced through his mind, the passenger sitting on the tailgate to collect his thoughts. "Spider-Man." He muttered with a curious upturn.

"Where?!" The driver tensed, reflexively ducking as he looked around before his partner seized him by the front of his suit and made him focus.

"No, we tell them Spider-Man interfered, or Daredevil, or one of the other do-gooders, and that's how we lost the barrel."

"Ohhhhh…. That makes sense."

"Now stand still."

"Huh?" The passenger drove a knee into his driver's gut, crushing the air out with a pathetic _HUFF_. Then came the punch while he was doubled over that knocked him to the ground. "WHAT THE HELL MAN!?" He managed to force out between gasps of breath.

Coming back around to his side of the van, the passenger bounced on the balls of his feet. "We have to make it at least look like we got attacked."

With a quick series of breaths, he bolted forward and slammed face-first into the side of the vehicle, leaving a sizable dent as he fell backwards clutching one hand to his face and the other on his left knee.

"That was a good idea." Both got back to their feet, limping towards the opened back. "You know I've seen a couple guys who ran into Spider-Man." Driver took hold of the right door, and just as the other came close, he swung it with all his might. The door struck the passenger with a loud _THUNK_!, and once more he was sent to the ground. "It's gotta look real."

"Yeah…" Passenger groaned, turning onto his hands and knees. "Real…"

With the sound of boots scraping on concrete, Passenger launched himself forward to tackle his partner but failed to wrestle him off his feet. The two costumed AIM techs then displayed the depth of their combative ineptitude as they tussled clumsily in their suits, grunting and cursing the other.

This private exercise of nerdery carried on for another few moments before a calm yet amused voice spoke out.

"Take it easy guys, save some for me…"

Both AIM techs froze in place, their cylindrical heads turning to see a smirking Daredevil perched on the roof of the van.

"I gotta get some work in tonight." Uncoiling his legs, Daredevil leaped off the roof, his short-sticks poised overhead.

The black drum that had been mistakenly dumped hit the bottom of the river with a light _THUB_ before settling on its side. Even though the particles of silt and biological matter around it float peacefully, the barrel itself rocks violently once, then again, each time denting the metal from the inside out.

 **YANCEY STREET PUB**

"Ah come on, ya lousy…" As the television announcer enthusiastically detailed the sequence that led to the Boston Celtics scoring on the New York Knicks, Ben Grimm ran a frustrated hand over his face. "Ah, no wunda ya ain't been in the playoffs in seven years!"

Catering to the usual crowd at this time in the evening, the rocky brute was a familiar fixture. The sound of game machines along the wall, the crack of a cue-ball, the chatter of glasses and small talk filled the bar with an ambient spirit. In most places Ben would be a stand-out figure, but here he was as common a sight as the bartender and the antiquated UHF/VHF television hanging in the corner of the room.

"Sorry they let you down again, Ben." Setting two glass pints down on the table, Johnny Storm took his seat and glanced up to the screen. "But you really shouldn't be surprised at this point."

Thing shook his head as he took-up one of the drinks. "Things just ain't been the same Johnny." He said after wiping his mouth of foam.

"I don't know, they're doing pretty much the same as last season."

"That ain't what I'm talking about, goon." Turning away from the direction of the television, Ben grimaced in thought. "Picking bodies out of the Triskelion was a whole different kind of trouble than punching monsters like I usually do."

The flow of beer halted in Johnny's mouth as the solemnity of his friend struck him. He swallowed the gulp and apprehensively set the glass down. "Yeah, that was uh, that wasn't like one of our wacky misadventures.". Facing down the hordes of Annihilus in the Negative Zone, and getting his ass kicked by Namor, at least he could get a few good quips out of those experiences. But there was no comedy to be found in having to witness Godzilla's destruction first hand, and the lives lost to the monster's wrath. He could still hear the echo of the roar.

"Well, at least we got one of those sons-ah-bitches."

"A-friggin-right" Thing raised his mug, and Johnny toasted him before they both downed the remainder.

"Hey, Grimm!" Another fella called out from a table across the room. "Looks like your Knicks are chokin' on it again! BWHAHAHAHA!"

The last of the foam and brew sputtered out of the corners of Ben's mouth, and in his fluster, he slammed the mug down on the table, shattering the bottom. "Ah crap!"

 **BAXTER BUILDING**

 **PENTHOUSE**

Susan Storm stood in her office, poster-sized photos of the several kaiju her world had suffered tacked to the wall, along with a collage of a dozen more she had pulled from the references obtained from the other side of the wall. Dim lighting made it easy on the eyes in contrast to the night on the other side of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

" _These aren't just big animals…"_

She mulled to herself, running a hand through her hair. The trifecta of computer monitors on the desk behind her displaying each their own content: The middle a diagram of Godzilla himself surrounded with various data points and information windows. The left, a montage of footage collected from various sources of the battles that took place on this side of the wall. On the right, was a soft-lighted interview with an older, bearded man named Steve Martin, recounting his career-making ordeal in 1954.

" _And they've known it for decades."_

"What's this one called?" Susan turned to see her friend Janet Pym plucking one of the other pictures from the collection. Black and white but digitally enhanced, the dragon-like creature prowled between the Manhattan skyscrapers, neck extended and jaws roaring with feral savagery.

"It's called a 'Rhedosaurus'." Susan informed. "There's no evidence of it in our prehistory, but the other side seems to have quite the number of monstrous species fairly well dispersed throughout their fossil record."

"I still think it's crazy." Letting her arm fall, Janet looked over the number of creatures, of all shapes and sizes. "Look at all these things! This one is a floating space-jellyfish, and this one's just a giant walrus!"

"Yes, to us it is all very strange. But then again, imagine telling them about a world full of super-powered people flying around all over the place. Maybe they think our side is the crazy one?"

"Touché." Janet walked over to the window and placed the picture against the glass, trying to match it to the corresponding neighborhood. "Monsters on one side, superhumans on the other. It's like one of those 'butterfly effect' moments. Imagine your going about your day: picking up the groceries, driving to work. Then BLAM! there's an explosion! Then a side of a building begins to crumble. For us, it might mean Hulk is having a punch-fest with Abomination. For them, it's a four-story reptile just recently unfrozen from the arctic!"

Susan bobbed her head from side-to-side. "Well, it's not like that's never happened on our side. It's just less frequent."

Janet snapped her fingers into a point. "That is true." Continuing to look over the pictures, she bit her lip. "Am I crazy for wanting to go over?" She said, sparing Susan a rueful smirk. "I mean, I know I just had enough near-death encounters to last a lifetime, but I can't help but think it would be like the coolest whale-watch encounter to go see them in their natural setting."

Mrs. Richards raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I assure you, it's not as majestic as all the brochures make it look. Although…" Approaching the collage, Susan removed a photo. "This one looks kinda neat." The picture was of bipedal beetle-looking creature with arms that resembled drill halves, one arm raised up as if to wave in greeting.

"I know Hank wants to get a look at their Mecha units." Van Dyne said, hopping backwards to sit on the backrest of a couch. "He said that manual control of such large machines can't possibly have a reaction time necessary to effectively combat living creatures. They'd be much better served with some type of virtual drone control, or adaptive AI."

Sitting beside her friend, Susan crossed her arms. "Yeah, Stark said he's got a few plans along those lines. Which would go a long way towards smoothing things over with how pissed they were that Beast stole Kiryu."

"You think that's a crime over there?" Janet asked. "Grand theft… mecha?"

"Wouldn't be surprised."

At once, an alert sounded from their pockets. For Susan it was her miniature version of Reed's tablet, more portable and convenient for her day-to-day. Janet extracted her multi-functional Avengers smartcard, a series of blue arrows flashing across the top.

The Invisible Woman's brow scrunched. "AIM agents have been caught dumping something toxic at the wharf in Hell's Kitchen."

"Same here." Lifting her card, Janet read the scrolling white text. "Daredevil was on site, says it's really nasty stuff. Thinks it might be some kind of industrial waste."

Susan checked her information again, confused. "Mine doesn't say anything about Daredevil."

"Red's on the emergency Avenger roster, gives us a lot of inside tips others can't."

"You guys didn't offer him a full-time spot?"

"Doesn't want it, says he likes his day job too much. Whatever that is."

"I don't know what Avenger protocol is, but Reed has a special loathing for AIM, he's gonna want to be all over this." Susan pocketed her device and fetched her jacket from where it rested on her desk. "I'm gonna go get my husband."

Shouldering on her own light jacket, Janet took the chance to tuck the picture of Megalon into the inside pocket. "I'll talk to Tony, see if I can convince him to let you guys take the lead on this one. Wouldn't want to have too many monkeys on the football."

"Too- what?" A perplexed blond asked.

Wasp paused with one arm still outside the sleeve, taking a second to realize the expression was lost on her friend. "Sorry, he-he. It's something Steve likes to say sometimes. It means-"

"Yeah I… gather what it means."

 **HELL'S KITCHEN**

 **Later**

The sleek and near-silent Fantasticar lowered itself into the sea of flashing lights and bustling personnel. A tight cordon of SHIELD agents working over the van and securing the unconscious AIM operatives into the back of one of their vehicles. Maintaining a wider outer cordon was the NYPD and local FBI officers who had much more manpower to spare than the recovering SHIELD.

"The Four are on site." Observing the descent of the craft, stood a woman in a dark suit, with dark hair, and a set of glasses framed by red-dyed bangs. Clutching a clipboard and two inches of various papers to her chest, she moved her left hand away from her earpiece and waited patiently for the Fantastic Four to land. Sporting a dark shade of lipstick, her expression was one of dispassionate patience.

The first to exit the craft as it eased to just a few inches above the ground, Reed moved with a sense of purpose, one elongated stride bringing him to the woman.

"Victoria Hand." She said, introducing herself with a handshake. "I'm the new head of strategic management for the New York office of SHIELD."

"Reed Richards." Shaking her hand, he nodded his head. "Congratulations on the promotion."

"A lot of positions have recently become available." Victoria said dryly, the glint of a hard glare behind the lenses of her glasses. "Hopefully I'll be able to maintain this post a bit longer."

The subtle intent was not lost on him, and Reed curled a lip back, muttering in agreement.

Victoria pivoted her attention to see Susan, Johnny, and Thing approach. "Thank you for coming. Normally SHIELD wouldn't require your consultation on crime scene forensics, but given the situation, the Director requested that I make use of your expertise."

Susan then shook her hand. "We're happy to help. Mind if we get started?"

"Not at all." Hand gestured towards the van, where a man and woman wearing SHIELD windbreakers and latex gloves were taking photographs.

Reed and Susan went onward, but Johnny held back, wanting his turn at introductions.

"Storm, Johnny, pleasure to meet you." He said with a smirk.

"Interested, not." Victoria returned with a deadpan as she shook his hand and turned away.

For a moment Johnny stood stunned, his arm still out until Thing bumped a shoulder into him from behind, sniggering as he passed.

Reed took out his translucent tablet device, and framed the un-tossed barrel through it, allowing the computer to run its diagnostic analysis. Several data windows appeared around the outline of the drum, his eyes scanning the information at a glance.

"Interesting." His brow pinched, he held the device in front of him as he reached out to remove the container's lid. The seal broke with a pop and revealed a bizarrely beautiful mixture within. A black morass was swirled with dark pigments of many colors, blue, pink, purple, green, and saturated with sparkling flecks throughout. It reminded Reed of a nebulae cloud. But its texture was viscous and uneven, a bubble slowly rising to release the fermented gas.

"I'm getting some significant readings." He said flatly, examining the numerous data windows appearing on his device.

"Does that mean you can tell us what it is?" Hand asked, peeking over his shoulder.

"It's nearly everything." The response aroused more confusion from the others than follow-up questions, and sensing the awkward hesitation, he continued. "I'm seeing components of almost every known element mixed in here, and a number of elements even I've never seen before."

"So it's alien?" Using her powers to create a downward-pointing cone inside the substance, Susan lifted a sample amount from the drum and held it aloft for all to gander at.

"In every sense of the term, honey." Reed raised his device to the portion, his eyes adjusting for better clarity.

Innocently curious, Thing took a step and dipped his left pointy finger into the goop, scooping out a few pasty ounces. "What the hell is AIM making that they produce this kind'a crap in the process?" He said with a grimace of disgust before flicking the stuff onto the inside panel of the van's door. Where it stuck, the greenish-black broth began to dissolve the metal, consuming with an acidic hiss as it slid down.

Johnny recoiled. "Yeesh!

"Clearly highly caustic…" Victoria noted, adjusting her glasses.

"Wait a minute…" Reed's brow furrowed, and he started using a finger to expand and adjust the metrics across the face of his tablet. "I'm getting readings similar to the kind when I detected Godzilla's universe. It's very faint, but there are trace signatures."

Victoria's attention snapped. "As far as SHIELD is aware, all the remains of the invasive kaiju have been contained."

"What about Orga?" Johnny suggested. "We kinda blew that thing into a million pieces, might explain the alien sludge."

But Reed shook his head. "It's not Orga. The Millennian was a bit chaotic due to the mutagenic nature of its adaptation, but still followed basic fundamentals of biology. This… This is highly concentrated pollution, I doubt life, life from any planet is capable of being birthed from this."

"Hey Stretch!" Overlooking the water from where he stood, Thing grabbed one of the portable spotlight stands and directed its light out onto the ocean. "I don't think life on this planet is compatible with that stuff."

As the light drew across the water's surface, all eyes widened at the sight of dozens of objects bobbing gently on the lapping waves. Fish, seagulls, and a few objects not readily identified littered the brine, some with dark, sheeny splotches.

"Miss Hand." Reed gulped, measuring his thoughts. "I believe there was mention of another barrel…"

* * *

An hour and much technical discussion later, the large magnetic plate that hung from the mobile crane broke the surface of the water as it lowered. Having decided not to send human divers down for fear of the toxicity, Victoria summoned a salvage crew to plumb for the other drum.

"Got a snag!" The technician announced, staring down at a hand-held monitoring device. "Looks like the drum."

When the magnet resurfaced, the chains tethering it to the end of the boom were visibly damaged, looking as if they had been exposed to acid rain for years without protection. Nonetheless, the abandoned drum was indeed clinging to the underside of the electromagnet, dark water streaming down.

"Oh no…" The shock in Susan's eyes was shared by the others. Facing them head-on was a side of the barrel that had been shredded, the contents all spilled out.

"I thought these barrels were supposed to contain this stuff?" Johnny asked. "How did it eat through it?"

Reed shook his head. "It didn't eat through the container, Johnny, look." Peeling outwards from the middle, jagged wedges of metal spread out like flower petals. "They weren't just dumping waste in the river."

 **MORNING**

Johnny's eyebrows arched in incredulity. "It's a what?"

The other members of the Four were gathered to see what Reed had managed to ascertain about the mysterious muck.

"It's called a Hedorah." Standing beside the display monitor in his lab, Reed gestured towards the screen featuring a close-up view of the recovered material, metallic sparkles much more prominent. "And as I said, it is quite literally a monster made of toxic sludge."

"This thing is alive?" Susan pointed to the picture, fixing it with curiosity. "How is that even possible?"

"Not this one, no. This is the sample we obtained from the undamaged container. The unit's label was coded to conceal its true purpose from the casual eye, but I was able to decipher it."

A close-up picture of the drum's label popped onto the screen, showing the block of numerical code that took up the bottom right of the pasted sticker. A ripple washed over the image and gave way to a data window that wiped away the original and replaced it with translated English text.

"Non-sentient sample…" She read.

"Which means the barrel that got loose in the river was one of… these." Tapping his finger on the screen, Reed swapped the current displays for a paused video. With another tap, the clip began to play.

"Looks like some kinda' refinery." Thing remarked, tilting his head.

"This footage is from Sagami Bay, Kanagawa, Japan, 1971." The video panned across the industrial district as Reed continued to narrate. "Obviously the quality isn't great, this was taped at night and with comparatively primitive quality. A local tv crew happened to be around to get some stock footage for a show they were making, and they managed to accidently capture this interesting bit."

Whereas the video was making slow sweeps over various parts of the area, it halted, then zoomed-in towards a hulking black shape silhouetted against the grey lights of the city.

Johnny, none to enthused to be watching home video twice as old as he was, flared his hands. "Yeah, what are we looking at?"

A scowling Thing bumped him with an elbow. "An inside view of ya' head."

Suddenly the shape shifted, the object moving away from where it had rested to reveal a set of smoke stacks and a wispy trail of exhaust. Muffled voices on the track exclaimed in surprise, hurried questions, before quelling down into hushed tones. The audio was overtaken by a strange warbling sound, a response to some activity off-screen.

The image blurred as the camera swung quickly to the left, Susan, Johnny, and Ben waiting for the mystery to be unveiled. Suddenly a stream of blue fire erupted from seemingly out of nothing to bath the ground, causing the objects on street-level to burst into familiar orange flame. A roar from the darkness gave proof to the wielder of the atomic flame, as tremendous legs carried him partially into view before the video came to an abrupt end.

"A Hedorah-" Reed began. "-consumes pollution for both sustenance and to acquire body mass, a mass by the way, that is virtually invulnerable to physical harm and spreads toxic smog wherever it goes."

"So it's some mutant Kaiju from the other side?" Torch put his hands on his hips, how'd it get here?"

Rubbing the right side of his head for a moment, Reed sighed and clicked his tongue. "Well, according to their Kaijuologists, they actually theorize that the Hedorah are a species. Something possibly related to another amorphous… 'blob' like creature they're familiar with. An examination of material recovered from a live specimen was fostered in a Petri dish by a man named Dr. Turo Yano. Upon hydrating the sample, it came to life, becoming a tiny, tadpole-like entity. He then exposed it to a second sample, and the two merged into one."

"A hive organism?" Susan asked, posturing a guess.

Richards swept another video screen onto the monitor from his tablet. "According to the notes of his experiment, it went something like this."

When the video played, it showed two computer animated petri dishes side by side, in each of them a miniscule black blot swimming about. The dish on the right was turned over by unseen hands, dumping the contents into the other. After a few moments, the two blots eventually found one another and collided. Where once there had been two now became one entity, swimming on smoothly, only twice as large.

"A micro-organism…" Susan nodded tightly, becoming more certain of her deductions. "If it's divided, it can reform, or, simply become two separate creatures. Hedorah's capability to reproduce is astronomical."

Turning to her husband, her expression tightened. "With enough material, it could spread itself throughout a city in a day."

Thing clasped his hands together with a thud, interlacing his fingers. "Then pull itself together, there'd be no telling how big it'd get!"

"Oh, it gets worse…" Reed sent yet another video, this one an import from the other side. "Once it has acquired enough material, it can transform at will."

What played for them was a montage of news footage, one showing the crawling quadruped, another, the flying manta-like body, then the upright shambling mass, taller and larger than even Godzilla.

"It's flying form is possibly the most deadly. Leaving exhaust in its wake capable of corroding metal structures to the point of failure and stripping humans to the bone within seconds. This creature is a living biological catastrophe. And unfortunately-" Reed exhaled. "None of us here with the possible exception of Sue, are even capable of engaging it, even for a limited time."

Ben raised his hands, palms up with frustration for lack of a problem he could simply punch. "We can't just let this thing run wild, Stretch, how do we stop it?"

"It's weakness lies in being dehydrated, and a general aversion to extreme temperatures." Setting the tablet down on a table, Reed crossed his arms. "They defeated it by shocking it with enough electricity to evaporate all the moisture in its body. We have to isolate and contain it long enough to dry it out."

"Sounds easy." Storm smirked, igniting his hand. "We corral it, I fry it for a minute, then we just got a pile of dust on our hands."

"That was an idea that occurred to me, Johnny. But that would release an incredible amount of toxic material into the environment. It could create acid rain clouds for hundreds of miles, contaminate water reservoirs, spread tons of carcinogenic substances into everything that breathes." The scientist shook his head. "It's far safer to keep the Hedorah's… bodily fluids… all in one place."

"Any creature in a new environment will instinctively seek out shelter and food." Sue wiped the monitor screen clear and brought up a satellite view of Manhattan island. "There's no shortage of places for it to hide, or sources of pollution to feed on in this city. Once it gets into the sewer system…"

"It's Vigo from Ghostbusters 2" Johnny muttered.

Susan, Reed, and Ben turned to him in unison, giving the typically superficial young man a curiously approving series of nods.

"Yeah... A lot like that." Reed agreed.

Thing scratched his chin, mulling an idea. "I got some friends in the city's water and sewage unions." He said with a raised finger. "Let me talk to some guys, see if they hear about anything weird going on in the tunnels."

Johnny, too, visibly perked with the flourish of a plan. "And I got this really hot female cop that I always like to, uh, check up on sometimes. I could ask her if the PD is tracking anything that sounds like our smog monster."

"Good ideas." Sue said. "You boys go do some sleuthing, me and Reed will work on a way to contain and destroy it."

Thing and Torch turned to leave, Ben towards the hall. But as Johnny headed for the balcony, he stopped short with a smirk. "I'm gonna put on some nicer clothes first."

When he was amused by his brother-in-law's cavalier attitude, the situation was rather serious, and his mind went quickly to solving the problem at hand.

"Right, honey." He said, already in motion to his work station. "I think if we can locate it while it's still small enough, I can- unff!"

His words were cut short as his face was flattened by an invisible wall that shimmered with translucent gleam upon impact.

"Honey…" Sue began, still facing where she had watched the others exit. "Question…" Her tone was anticipatory, like she already knew the answers. "In know for a fact that you did not come back from the other side with some of that information about the Hedorah."

A second translucent wall pressed onto Reed from the back, and acting in tandem, rotated him in place to face a tense, ireful wife. "So how exactly did you get access to it, if it wasn't by using my credentials? The credentials given to me by SHIELD, and very deliberately NOT to you?"

For a few seconds, she watched Reed's face twitch in the middle of her hard-light plates, just enough for him to see the displeasure in her own. Folding her arms, she dismissed the constructs with a wince.

"I knew you'd be mad about that." He said, shaking his head back into proper shape. "Which is why I used seventeen redundancies to make sure SHIELD can't prove that it was me."

"God-dammit, Reed!" Sue cursed with a clenched fist. "If Fury finds out your going behind his back, he's gonna bury you like one of his Cold-War secrets!"

"I'm sure it won't be anything so dire." He put his hands up defensively. "Right now we need to prioritize the kaiju, and figure out how AIM even got their hands on one."

 **WEST 53** **RD** **ST.**

 **09:49 pm**

"Eh! Frankie! Stop screwing around and get the hook over 'ere!" The senior Department of Sanitation worker bellowed impatiently, a distended beer-belly protruding noticeably from underneath the yellow vest bearing official insignia. "We gotta clear this block by eleven, and I wanna get home before friggin' midnight!"

He stood amidst all the usual safety equipment used when accessing a manhole in the middle of the street, a few orange cones, a fold-out barricade with DSNY logos, his tool belt in hand and white hardhat on his head.

His trainee for the night, a much younger man hurried around the side of the truck, careful to not step into any on-coming traffic. He carried a solid-steel tool that resembled the claw side of a crowbar, but with a handle on the other end. He offered it to his supervisor who grimaced before recoiling his hand.

"I ain't opening' it, you're the new guy here." He scolded.

With a frustrated gasp of remembrance, the trainee angled the pry-end of the hook and began to loosen, then drag off the metal disk, revealing the descendant ladder below.

Adjusting his pants, the older man affixed his tool belt and began to lower himself down into the shaft with veteran casualness.

"Alright, I'll go down and see if I can find out what's causing the blockage. You stay up here and stop anybody from throwing things down the hole." He stopped a few rungs down to look back up. "I was climbing back up one time, and some prick threw a brick down that almost cracked my head open."

"Shit." Muttered the assistant. "What'd you do?"

"I beat the fuck out of him with the hook. Now stay there and don't get hit by a fucking car"

"Yeah."

Allowing the flashlight from above to illuminate his descent, the senior worker moved down the rungs with a combination of practice and enough agility as his age and health would allow. His rubber boots splashed down into the water then submerged beneath the dark surface.

"Ah, hell." He swore, realizing the damage could be worse than a mere obstruction. The water was coming up to his crotch and plucking his own Mag-lite from his belt, began his examination.

Wading through the expectantly foul water, he moved towards where experience told him the problem must originate. There was an opening that had once connected this tunnel to another one where steel bars had been installed 20-something years ago. Normally anything large enough to create blockages was filtered out before it reached this destination, but something had managed to get caught in the bars and was causing problems elsewhere in the system. Wading forward he was forced to scrunch his nose at the increasingly repugnant stink.

"What the hell died down here?" He asked aloud. The prospect that an animal, or even human, carcass was the cause of the problem was not a pleasant one, but it wouldn't be the first time either. "Some poor shmuck get on Kingpin's badside?"

Finally reaching the juncture, he slipped a pair of elbow-length, yellow, rubber gloves from his back pockets and snapped them on. "Alright, bend and cough." The opening was no more than three-feet off the floor, but completely submerged, the water frothing against the wall above.

He was forced to twist his face to the side as he reached down, groping blindly for whatever was to be found. With a wince, he realized something down here was definitely odd. Feeling about, his hand gripped into a thick, squishy material adhered to the bars.

"What the…?" Bringing a sample up for examination, he saw a repulsive mass of dark grey, swirled with sickly pale green and silver. Squinting, he also detected the presence of more solid, flesh-like tissue wriggling in the goop.

The sound of thrashing water some paces behind him startled the man so much, he accidently grazed his right cheek with the substance when he flinched. Although the contact lasted no longer than a flash, and left only a thin trail of muck, within a second he felt the caustic burn lacing into his skin.

"Ahh!" He barked, flinging the soiled glove away from himself reflexively to create distance from the threat. The glove splattered against the brick wall and slowly began to slide downwards. Using the backhand of his other glove, he quickly wiped away the sludge on his face with a hiss of pain. "Shit!"

On the street, the younger man was watching traffic go by when he heard the sharp exclamation of pain echo from below. He cast his own light down the manhole. "You alright down there?" He called out.

Still trembling, the supervisor swung his flashlight in the direction of the noise, his nerves on high alert. There, perched on the first rung of the ladder above water, was a grimy rat, its tiny nose and whiskers twitching innocently.

"Jesus…" He gasped, clutching his naked hand to his chest. Remembering the call from his trainee, he gulped and tried to reign-in his heartbeat before he had a coronary. "Yeah!" He yelled with a bit of a chuckle. "Just got spooked."

Looking again to the rat to reassure himself, it was now he noticed that despite having just emerged from the water, the rat's fur was thickly matted with a dark, paste-like substance. The rodent didn't seem overly bothered by its condition, but nonetheless it looked like it had been rolled in mud.

"Somebody must be dumping waste in the system." He muttered. "You'd think they'd smarten-up after Roxxon got caught. Hmm, better get a sample."

Selecting from a pouch of his toolbelt, he obtained a small plastic bottle with a black screw-cap and approached the spot where his glove had left most of the sludge on the wall. He undid the cap and used the lip of the bottle to scoop a few ounces of the muck inside, careful not to get any on his hands again.

"I'll have to get some results from the lab before we can decide how to clear this stuff."

Tucking the bottle back into its place, he grimaced at his lost glove floating on the water and turned. He took one step when a sound, decidedly not made by a rat, sent a chill down his spine.

It was rapid-paced clicking sound that evolved into a high-pitched warbling. The gurgling bounced off the walls, distorting it further, but not enough to disguise its point of origin.

Slowly, he swiveled his light to the wall on the left, tracing it upwards, the beam beginning to shiver as it climbed. The man's jaw hung slack at what the light slowly revealed.

Clinging to the ceiling like a remora along the length of the tunnel, was a wedge-shaped grey body, bulky and with a tail that tapered. Two eyes, disjointed and asymmetrical like a flounder stared down at him with bleeding red irises.

His own expression widened in shock and terror at the eldritch-inspired thing above him, words unable to form in his mind. Words that would never come.

From a blow-hole aperture in the middle of the organism a plume of sticky black smoke was expulsed, spraying him in the face and smothering his every orifice. If the muck had burned his cheek, this acrid smog was like plunging his head in battery acid. His eyes shut immediately to save themselves but it was too late, the corneas already destroyed, the whites infected. The smoke sucked into his lungs began to eat away at his trachea, stinging his gums and filling his chest with a suffocating poison. Toxic exhaust filling his nasal cavity created a maddening, overwhelming urge to purge it from the body.

His wail of agony was muffled as he fell to his knees, clutching at his face, clawing frantically to do anything to free himself. As he scraped and dug, the top few layers of skin began to come away in blackened flakes, the underside of his fingernails packed with fouled flesh. The flashlight fell from his hand and into the water, it's light absorbed by the murk. The man's body began to convulse with only a pair of curious crimson eyes to watch. From somewhere on its body, it loosed another warbling cry.

"Hey Steve?" Franklin called down after hearing some commotion and strange sounds. "What are you doing down there? You need help?"

Nervous, he glanced to his left and right, trying to decide what the proper course of action would be.

"Alright, I'm coming down there!" He warned, tucking his flashlight into its belt-loop. Giving the world one last glance, he began to descend the rungs, mumbling to himself. "I really don't wanna get filthy on my first night."

 **NEXT MORNING**

Rocky orange knuckles struck against the white door, edging it open with each knock.

"Hey Reed, I got sumthin'."

Richards turned from the screen he was working at, several different models of molecular compounds rotating in 3-D. He set aside his trusty tablet panel on a table and greeted his friend with cautious curiosity.

"Did you hear something from your network of unionized city sewage technicians?"

Thing paused for a moment to ponder whether he was being funny or not. "Yeah, maintenance job turned into a horror show last night." Presenting a manila folder, he handed it to Reed as he approached.

A quick scan of the contents was enough to make Richard's face twist with revulsion. "It… definitely matches what I know about the creature."

"Yeah, and this happened a long ways from where those AIM goons were dumping the barrels. This… whatever it is, is getting into the city, Stretch."

"I'm afraid that's not the worst of it." Going back to the monitor, Reed summoned a semi-translucent representation of Manhattan, a bird's eye view with a pulsating blue cloud above the dock area of west Hell's Kitchen. "Of course, my first thought to find the creature was to trace the signature of the alternate universe, simple enough to program our satellite."

"I feel like there's a 'but' coming on." Thing scowled.

"However…" Fantastic said with a bit of a sly smirk. "By the time I was able to generate the results, this was the case-"

The city graphic rippled and branching out from the original location were several blue lines that spread out north, east, and south.

"These trails were from seven hours ago." Reed explained with a tired sigh. "Since then the signature level has diminished to the point of being undetectable. My theory is that they've assimilated enough native material that the algorithm can no longer distinguish them."

"Well ain't that peachy!" Throwing a hand up in frustration, Thing gestured towards the simulation. "There's at least eight of those things crawling around down there! We're gonna need to flush the whole city's pipes to get them out!"

"Fortunately, it should be much simpler than that. We know what it seeks out, and like any animal, we just have to use the right lure."

"Stink bait."

A click of his tongue and a hand-pistol gesture from Reed signaled the affirmative. "An industrial-strength stink bait."

 **MIDTOWN MANHATTAN**

Reclining against the side of his cruiser, NYPD officer Ramirez, coffee in hand, was enjoying a casual conversation with his partner beside the sidewalk sausage cart when a commotion of honking horns stirred their attention. Both heads pivoting somewhere to Ramirez's left, a set of brakes screeching to a halt caused them to quickly set their cups on the hood of the car and dash towards the source of the disturbance.

Both lanes of east 32nd street were blocked, cars halted at angles, onlookers stepping cautiously onward from the sidewalk. A few drivers having opened their doors to stand partially out from their seats traded comments and gestured towards some event in the epicenter.

An androgynous figure, likely a female if Ramirez had to guess, was standing in the middle of the lane, a manhole cover by her right foot displaced from its position. Like an 80's glam rocker transported through time, she wore leather pants with a matching jacket that was torn jagged at the shoulder seams, a thin, yellowed t-shirt underneath. Around her neck she wore a studded black choker, and her jet-black hair was cut short. Most striking was the eyepatch she wore over her right eye, complementing the rest of her rough-looking face.

Another individual was rising from the sewer hole, albeit one shoulder at a time. Possibly at a height of 6'5 but with his head and neck slouched forward, the sheer breadth of his frame forcing him to shove his left shoulder upwards first with clear discomfort. All that was visible of his attire so far was that his conical head was as bald as a cue-ball, and his olive drab jacket had similar torn sleeves.

Ramirez and his partner used the stopped cars as cover, moving from one to the other while keeping an inspective gaze on the strange people emerging from the street.

"Hey ah… Miss!?" Ramirez called out, a pre-emptive hand on the butt of his service pistol, the same hip pulled back. "What uh, what's going on?" His partner, similarly poised, moved in a semi-circle around to the left, speaking quietly into the radio mike on his left shoulder.

"Officers…" The mysterious woman returned upon seeing the approach of the uniforms. "My name is Callisto, and we require assistance."

"Okay…" Trading a queer expression with his partner, Ramirez stopped at the front bumper of the nearest car. "Is there a reason you're climbing out of the sewer in the middle of traffic?"

"We live underground." Callisto's tone was serious and defiantly prideful, her own stance, chin forward, was firm but diplomatic. "We live in the sewers, in the abandoned tunnels, and all the dark places beneath your feet. We are the Morlocks."

By now the lumbering man had extricated himself through the manhole with no small number of grunts and grumbled complaints. Following him was a scrawny old woman, who looked more like a living scarecrow than a human, dressed in ragged, dirty clothes.

The more information they gathered, the more confused the situation became to the officers.

"Morlocks… right." Another, even more bewildered exchange of glances and the officers slowly began to heel-toe step a bit further. "So what's with the grand entrance?"

Callisto's face winced, and for a moment she turned away to watch the brute help the crone with gentle strength. "We can no longer live in our hollows and warrens, we have been forced to the surface, and not with everybody who should be with us."

She fixed the officers with a hard glare, this time with a quiver of her lip and the beginnings of a tear in the corner of her good eye.

"Something is down there, and it's killing us."


	6. Spider-Man vs The Lizard: part 1

**AFRICA, 1997**

A jeep, open-topped and faded olive drab under the rust spots, bounced violently over the dry grassland terrain, its shocks too worn from abusive driving to do much good. Standing straddled over the median was a rough looking man, ebony skin, a coarse beard, and sporting a pair of sunglasses under a red beret. He wore a camouflage military uniform accented by a thick green pistol belt from which hung a set of holsters on each side. Ivory handled .45 revolvers sticking out.

Aside from the driver, there were three other men packed into the back seat, all wearing uniforms that while not exact matches, were similar to the one standing. AK-47's clutched in their hands. The apparent leader pointed off to the right of the jeep's current path, issuing a command in their native tongue and the driver spun the wheel accordingly. Behind them, three more jeeps with more armed men followed in the dust trail.

 **IN a large** tent in the center of a small village, yellowed with dust, the door flaps of one end hung open, inside a cluster of humanity waited, huddled on cheap plastic chairs. Locals dressed in loose clothing, their limbs scrawny and faces hopeful for the reward of their participation waiting for their turn to be examined by the medical team. Most of them missing some degree of limb; a leg here, arm there, a portion of their torso. The seats were arraigned on either side, with a line formed down the middle, at the front was a pair of white people with clipboards.

"Can I get another one of those-yeah." Reaching for an alcohol wipe, a man in his early 20's received one in his upturned palm from a female associate, similarly dressed in jeans and a white coat. Squatting on a small folding seat, the man sat in front of a dark-skinned woman with her head wrapped in a purple cloth with yellow and white stripes.

"Infection?" The associate asked, tugging on her sterile gloves. She was of a comparable age, with her auburn hair fixed back in a ponytail.

"No surprise there…" He muttered, tearing open the small white packet and applying the wipe to the shoulder joint of an emaciated woman. Where her left arm should have been was a jagged section of humerus sticking out from a very rough-looking mass of muscle. Black bits of flesh dotted the surface, rotted and attracting flies.

The woman sucked a breath through clenched teeth at the sting of the alcohol, recoiling slightly but suffering the pain nonetheless.

Leaning down, the female doctor tilted her head to examine the wound. "This is a bad one, Curt." She muttered. "She needs surgery, that's all necrotic."

"I know, but we don't have the equipment here, and I'm not about to butcher her with a pocketknife. Besides…" Glancing over his shoulder to the rest of the patient onlookers, he let out a dispirited sigh. "If we did, we'd be here all day."

The woman in the chair spoke up in strained English. "Can you help me? Dr. Connors?"

"It's not much." Curt rubbed the side of his head. "But I can try to clear the infection as much as I can and give you a wrapping to keep it clean for a while."

A small smile broke across her face. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Yeah… Gabby, can you grab the precision kit? I put it over by the…"

A commotion outside stirred the people waiting near the opposite side of the tent, voices excited in fear became drowned-out by the sound of a vehicle engine.

"Shit…" Curt paused, turning in his seat to stare in the direction of the noise.

Outside, the squad of olive-drab jeeps came to a halt in no particular coordination. The man in the red beret remained standing where he was as his troops deployed, shouting commands at the frightened villagers in their native tongue. With their weapons drawn they quickly herded men, women, and children alike in the center of the village, shoving and threatening. One man took a butt-stroke to the back of his head as he tried to shield his wife and child, forcing him to stumble face-first into the dust.

But the man in the red beret was hardly concerned with the discomfort of the villagers. Rather he fixed his attention on the medical tent. He watched as two of his men cleared the locals, waiting to see what kind of foreigners would be rousted from inside.

Sure enough, two white people were eventually driven out, gloved hands raised, medical coats indicating their purpose. The man in the red beret stepped out of the jeep, and sticking his thumbs into his pistol belt, sauntered over to the activity.

Curt and Gabby were herded among the others, though a pair of troops did hover near them. For about a minute, the man in the red beret paced around the villagers, his scowling gunmen keeping heads down and compliant. Though hushed voices murmured among them, none dared make a show of defiance.

On his third time around, the red beret stopped a few paces behind Curt and Gabby, spending a further few moments examining them with pursed lips from behind his sunglasses.

"What… are you doing 'ere?" He asked, his francophone accent thick.

"We're doctors." Making sure to avoid direct eye contact, Curt had heard about the militia general, hoping that the assurances from the peacekeepers were true that he had agreed to refrain from raiding villages long enough for Doctors Without Borders to make a few rounds. Evidently not. "We're just trying to provide some care here, collect some information on what kind of medical needs this region has."

"So you can send more foreigners?" The man in the red beret leaned down to scrutinize Curt further. "More spies?"

"You know this area is infested with landmines." He was trying to remain calm, but the man's paranoia seemed to defy the obvious. "These people are in desperate need-"

"D'ese people-" The man barked. "Do not know what d'ey need. They still live in mud 'uts and shit like animals."

Nearby, the man who had been struck in the head, a trail of crimson trickling down behind his ear, began to waver.

Gabby's attention was drawn when she heard someone collapse, glancing to her left, she saw a man in a short-sleeved yellow shirt face down in the dirt and convulsing violently, a woman beside him panicking as she tried to hold him still. Instinctively, Gabby surged off her knees and rushed over to help stabilize him.

Just as quick, the soldiers were shouting and racing to grab hold of her. The closest one hesitated, realizing what was happening, but the next one took her by the ponytail and threw her to the ground. The uncompromising guard pressed the flash-suppresser of his rife against her cheek and forced her head into the dust. Gabby yelped at first, but stifled her fear, clenching her eyes shut and whimpering through her teeth.

"Stop! Stop!" Keeping his hands raised, a tense Curt Connors gestured with a forward palm towards the man looming over his partner. "She can try to save that man!"

Red beret glanced back and forth between the parties, then with a flicking of his wrist called off the soldiers. With hesitation, Gabby got to her knees and made her way to the convulsing man and began attempting stabilization.

"I will need all da men I can get." Red beret roved his hidden gaze over the crowd. "I am 'ere to recruit."

Snapping his fingers and pointing to the assembled villagers, his men converged on them, yanking out any of the males who looked healthy enough to fight. They seized boys judged big enough to hold a rifle, ripping a few of them away from their screaming mother's arms.

It was a nightmare, but there simply wasn't anything Curt could do about it. He was a doctor, not a hero. Maybe if he had powers like the X-Men he could do something but pissing these guys off would likely just make things a whole lot worse for the innocent villagers. He caught the eye of a boy who couldn't have been older than 11, face twisted in fear being dragged by his arm away from a woman desperately holding onto his other hand. The woman with one arm he had been treating minutes ago.

"Please, General, this village has suffered enough. If you take all their healthy men, you're damning them to starvation."

"D'ey live on little more d'an dirt and water as it is." Red beret remarked without a hint of empathy. "At least now d'ere will be more to go around."

Curt breathed heavily through his mouth as it hung open in dread, aghast at the inhumanity of the situation.

The convulsing man now laid on his right side, finally stilled, eyes staring outward blankly. Gabby took her hands away, sullenly accepting she simply wasn't equipped to provide the kind of emergency care this injury would require. Having done little more than use his wife's headscarf to wrap the wound and stem the bleeding.

Declining to meet the wife's watering eyes, she raised her hands slightly. "I'm sorry, he… He needs a hospital."

The sound of approaching boots stopped a few feet away. Gabby and the wife looked up to see the man in the red beret staring down at them. He spoke something in the native tongue, then drew one of his revolvers. Before either woman could effectively react, the gun went off, and the man on the ground jerked one last time as the blood and gore of his head was splattered on them both.

A shriek of terror went up among the people, Gabby, her mouth agape in shock blinked a few times. It took a moment, but she felt the droplets of crimson on her face, reaching up with a trembling hand to wipe it away.

"Now 'e will suffer no more." Came the voice of the red beret. "Consider it a mercy."

Hearing that, Gabby transformed from stupefied to enraged, and in her fury, she lashed out. Curt watched in horror as she lunged at the militia leader like a feral cat, pushing past his weapon to claw at his face.

"YOU SON OF A-!"

Instinctively, he too leapt to his feet, wrapping his arms around her and lifted Gabby off her feet, twisting away from the red beret. The soldiers were back to shouting and gesturing with the barrels of their weapons, but a sharp bark from the general silenced them.

The man in the red beret put a hand to his face. Just under his askew sunglasses was a nasty scrape where fingernails had dug into his cheek below the eye, bleeding down to his jaw.

Neither Curt nor Gabby said anything, both realizing what her recklessness could incur, fearing what severity of punishment was about to be inflicted.

A few words in the native language and a pair of soldiers converged on the doctors, attempting to tear the two apart. Red beret leveled his revolver once more, tracking Gabby as she was steadily being separated.

"DON'T! PLEASE!" Curt cried, fighting against them to keep her in his embrace. When he saw what the general was preparing to do, time seemed to slow, and the palpitation of his heartbeat felt like it would burst from his chest. Without thinking, Curt pivoted his body around to place it between her and the gun, extending his right arm with a forward palm.

The man in the red beret fired.

* * *

 **PRESENT DAY**

He shot up in bed, breath rapid and a layer of cold sweat over his forehead and cheeks. Without thinking he reached to scratch an itch on his right arm but found only empty space.

Dr. Curt Connors flinched to remember that there was no right arm below the elbow, merely the stump that resembled the pinched end of a hotdog.

With an exhalation of relief, he glanced down to his left and saw his wife Martha still asleep on her side facing away from him, her chest gently rising and falling under the comforter. For a few moments he stared at her, meditating on how different his life was now compared to back then. Running a hand through his unkempt hair, he huffed again and swung his legs out of bed.

Passing by a pile of unopened boxes labeled for the kitchen and living room, the shirtless Curt opened the refrigerator door and took hold of a half-gallon of milk. Coming to the counter he found a glass in the rack beside the sink and poured himself a drink.

After putting the milk back, he shuffled over to the window that looked out towards the city. The lights of Manhattan blinking at him in a night of artificial constellations. He downed half the glass.

 _I wouldn't have come back here if I wasn't so desperate. I didn't particularly want to after Reed's humanitarian mission went all to shit. But… it was the only way to continue my research. Living in Coral Gables had been a nice life though…_

Finishing the milk with another gulp he set the glass aside and leaned on the window frame letting his head rest on the pane.

 _I just need a little more time, I'm so close to a breakthrough. Why couldn't the university just… look the other way for just a little longer? At least they didn't confiscate my research. God knows how they would have reacted if they knew what I was working with._

Curt spent a few minutes thinking in front of the window, his mind always circling back to the project.

 _At least now I don't have to treat my work like a terrible secret, and the funding is more than I could have dreamed of._

Backing away from the window with a final pat on the frame, Curt checked the digital clock on the stove, seeing that it was already quarter-past five.

"Might as well put some coffee on."

* * *

 **A BIT LATER**

The sunrise through the cityscape of Queens was like a giant forest, with the golden rays streaming around the buildings to create an almost mythical panorama.

"Frosted Flakes are moooore than good!"

Swinging between the skyscrapers, a figure in red & blue wearing a brown backpack threw his arms out to the side before going into a graceful backflip. Spider-Man landed beside the flagpole of a building that overlooked the eastern horizon, the warmth of the sun penetrating his suit comfortably.

"THEY'RE GRRREAT!" He exclaimed out loud, pumping his fists in the air. Spidey exhaled with an audible tone of joy, setting his hands on his hips to take in the golden view.

"All it took was one commercial and now I can't get that jingle out of my head. Guess that's why they're so successful." Squatting down, he scanned the streets below for anything that might interest him.

"Gotta be glad criminals don't tend to be morning people, makes my swing to school nice and relaxing."

That was when something caught his eye down on the sidewalk, a steady bob of red hair coming to a pause at the edge of a crosswalk.

"Good morning MJ, what a coincidence, I'm totally not stalking you, we just happened to cross paths on my commute. I'm Spider-Man by the way."

He watched her make her way across the street amongst a crowd of other morning pedestrians, a few notebooks couched under her arm, a Smartphone in hand.

"Can't let the news cycle pass you by huh?"

Mary-Jane Watson reached the other side and stopped suddenly to simultaneously move her face and phone closer to one another before striding onward at a renewed pace.

"Breaking Headlines: _Spider-Man is the newest hero to join the Avengers; Wilson Fisk trapped in bathtub_."

Once she had passed out of sight, Spider-Man turned his attention elsewhere, namely the sight of the Triskelion reconstruction out on the bay.

"They're making a ton of progress over there, considering it was a pile of radioactive rubble eight months ago."

His focus shifted again, this time to where the World Trade Towers had once stood. While he had been very young when Magneto's Brotherhood took them down, he had of course seen footage of the disarray and horror. The destruction wrought by Godzilla and the other Kaiju while greater, felt less personal than the malice that struck down the towers. Having a community of superheroes, one might have thought the city was well protected.

"Mental note, make a stop by the SHIELD memorial when they get around to building it."

With a few lunging steps Spider-Man flung himself off the side of the rooftop and, casting a web-line, dove feet-first into the air.

"Good morning Salamini's Deli." He waved as the sites whizzed past him. "Good morning Officer Stevens." The NYPD officer leaning on his vehicle at the intersection looked up and waved back with a polite smile.

"Good morning continuously mounting pile of trash bags. Good morning methadone clinic. Good morning giant crab-monster- WAIT WHAT?"

For just a brief instant as he passed by the gap between two buildings, he caught a glimpse of an upright creature about 10 stories tall, some kind of grey-colored crustacean-like entity.

His body reacting before his mind fully processed, he let go of the web line he'd been gripping, and for a few seconds, Spidey was in free-fall.

But just as quick, he reached over with his left arm and cast a new line in the direction of the monster. A screaming trill gave further proof that he hadn't just been seeing things, an oddly gentle sounding call compared to the bellow of other behemoths. The shrieks of people beginning to rise and spread in response.

Spider-Man landed on a wall of mirrored windows, crawling around the side to peek at what was going on. There, rampaging down the avenue on four-exoskeleton legs, was what he could only describe as a crab monster, towers of chitin armor on either side of its head, the many parts of its mouth gnashing and chewing as it cried out. Two heavy claws snapping as they swung back and forth over the heads of those fleeing its path.

"Okay… So I'm gonna need one of three things: The Avengers, The Fantastic Four, and a few tons of melted butter. Well, definitely the butter."

The monster swung up and over with its left claw and brought it hammering down on the roof of a storefront, sending debris flying amidst a cloud of dust.

"I'm sure they'll get here soon enough. For now, it's up to you Spidey. Think… think…"

Past experience had taught him that when dealing with a clearly stronger foe, he had to have the right plan.

"There!" The legs, it occurred to him, were spread out like a table. Take one out, and it would likely topple. Which would present its own problem, but that was another bridge to cross.

"Alright… One web-bomb to stick one of its legs, and another to cradle it from destroying too much on its way down. Sounds easy enough."

He removed a webbing capsule from the slit on his beltline where he kept the refills for his shooters, and clicked a button on one end, causing a light on the side of it to start blinking red. Leg muscles possessing super-human strength uncoiled, and Spider-Man launched himself forward in the monster's direction.

"One Spidey-special curve ball!" Pitching the capsule with a sidearm technique, he aimed it to go off in the crevice of a joint, hoping to cause the leg to fold underneath the beast mid-stride. The capsule however, sailed right through the monster's leg, exploding harmlessly on the other side. Landing on the hood of an abandoned Volkswagen, his eyes widened in bewilderment.

"Oh… okay… he's got some Kitty Pryde thing going on, that's… very terrible."

The monster didn't seem to notice Spider-Man, continuing to bellow and flail as it had before. In fact, for all the fight and fury, it seemed to be surprisingly little damage.

"Wait a minute…" Focusing his attention downwards this time, he noticed something odd about how pavement broke under the weight of its footfalls. Then he saw it. One of the bits of concrete rubble from the smashed building was sitting about a foot and a half above the bottom of the crater.

Police had begun arriving on the opposite side, their squad cars screeching to a halt a few dozen meters away to create a perimeter, taking stances behind car doors with weapons raised. Leading the charge was an older man with sandy-blonde hair wearing grey slacks and a white dress shirt underneath a bulletproof vest.

"Where'd the hell this thing come from?!" He barked, striding out of his car with a sense of urgency, assessing how best to deploy his men. "Get those goddamn bystanders out of that alley!"

"Captain Stacy out in front as usual. But let's give King Crab one last poke for good measure." Spying a knocked-over trash can, Spider-Man snatched it with a web line and slung it at the creature's body. He stood straight up as he watched it disappear into the body.

"Yup, I knew it. Hologram. Which must mean…" Quickly he scanned the other rooftops, crevices, any good place to stash a thing or two.

 **As is typical following** an amount of catastrophe, someone with a keen eye will see opportunity in the chaos. Stepping through the rubble of the jewelry shop was an unkempt man, dark scraggly hair, stubbled chin in a dirty jacket and jeans carrying a plastic shopping bag, glancing over his shoulder. With a wry grin he approached the shop's vault where the heavy door hung open and partially bent outwards from the force of devastation.

"Too perfect."

He laid a hand on the door to steady himself as he walked over a fallen hunk of masonry but jerked back when he felt something attach itself to his skin and pin it to the metal.

"Using a monster attack to cover a robbery..." Spider-Man said from the wreckage of the storefront. "Ingenious, if not wildly over the top."

Alarmed, the stranger tried to yank his hand away. "Can't-ugh! Can't put one over on you!"

"It was a nice try, Quentin, just in really poor taste." Spider-Man shot a gob of webbing to entrap him, but just as quick, the man's whole body burst with a blinding light, causing the line to go wide at the last second.

"You know I always try to put on a good show, Spider-Man!" Came the voice, now with an amplified resonance. "I'm just trying to stay contemporary!"

When the light had cleared, the figure of the man had been replaced by the ostentatious attire of the villain Mysterio. "Call it a reboot!"

"More like the Netflix version!" Casting twin web lines on either side of Mysterio, Spider-Man sling-shot himself forward, intending to drive him into the vault where he could be contained.

But Mysterio waved his free hand, releasing a cacophony of fireworks that exploded with bright colors and deafening crackles. Forced to shield his face, Spider-Man lost sight of where his target was. There was a loud _OOF!_ sound however, when he felt a body collide with his crotch.

Together, Mysterio and Spider-Man tumbled into the vault as a tangle of limbs and complaints, rolling to a stop on their sides.

"GET OFF ME!" The infamous illusionist snarled, using his legs to shove Spidey away from him. With a practiced sleight of hand technique, Mysterio activated the button on his belt to envelope himself in a cloud of grey smoke.

"No!" Knowing how slippery Quentin Beck could be, Spider-Man decided to cut his retreat off at the pass. Casting a web line to the vault door, he heaving it closed with a groan of screeching steel. "There's no exit stage left today!"

Out of the obscuration came a cloth sack become missile which, Spider-Man swerved his head to deftly avoid. The sack impacted the opposite wall of security boxes with a smash that reveled how full of coins it had been, sending a few gold bits scattering out of the top.

"I thought those only existed in cartoons!" With the only exit blocked, he allowed the smoke to surround him, his chin slightly lowered, listening, tensing his body to react in an instant.

Another object came sailing through the mist, a sense of alarm causing him to reflexively dodge in time to feel the edge of something whizz by. Now possessing a direction of attack, Spider-Man shot a web line and lunged into the haze.

 **On the outside** , the crab-monster had held its position, surrounded by a small army of police.

"Nobody fire at it!" Captain Stacy yelled from behind the cover of a streetlight pole. "You'll just end-up pissing that thing off!"

Suddenly however, the visage of the monster began to blink in and out, its roar breaking up into intermittent shrieks. A wave of bewildered murmurs went through the blue ranks as the ruse began to be realized. After a few moments the image altogether failed and vanishing with it the craters on the street. Hovering in its place was a drone sporting several optical and audio projection devices.

Stacy dropped his arms, mortified by the deception and holstered his weapon. "Shit…" He grabbed his dress jacket from the passenger seat of his vehicle and walked out to stand underneath the machine.

"Thompson! Wing it!" He called out. One of the officers who had selected a rifle from their car steadied a forearm on the door, stared down the sights and took a deliberate shot at one of the propellers.

With a single _CRACK!_ The drone fell from the sky as one of its corners was shattered, sending it spiraling down to Captain Stacy who danced a bit before catching it in his jacket.

 **The vault door swung open in a burst** , begrudgingly pushed halfway before grinding to a halt. Spider-Man walked through the threshold dragging an unconscious Mysterio in his right hand. Arms pinned to his body under a sleeve of webbing, the villain's glass dome was partially shattered, his head lolling downwards.

"Spider-Man: 3, Bubble-Head: zero."

Exiting the shop, Spider-Man approached the officers. "Here's your man, Captain!". Putting Mysterio down at the feet of Captain Stacy and two other officers, he grabbed one of the ornate wrist gauntlets, removed it, and opened one of the side panels.

"He usually hides his gadget controls in these." Inside, Spidey pointed to an oscillating transmitter meter. Tapping it with a finger, they suddenly found themselves standing inside half the projection of the crab-monster, the other half blocked by being snuggled in the jacket.

The surrounding officers recoiled back, surprised to find themselves standing in a kaleidoscope experience of thrashing limbs and warbled noises. Quickly, Captain Stacy wrapped the drone completely to cut off the projection.

With another tap Spider-Man shut the device off. "Help us Captain Stacy, you're my only hope."

"You can help me by handing over that evidence." Passing off the drone to another officer, George held out his hand for the gauntlet.

"Seems like the programming was on this SSD card." Spider-Man said as he held it out, pointing to a small port in the device.

"I'll have our tech guys go over it." After giving the gauntlet a brief look, the captain noticed that Spider-Man was wearing a backpack. "You uh, you bring your extra onesie in there or something?"

 _My backpack? School! I completely lost track of time!_

Catching sight of the time on Captain Stacy's wristwatch, Spidey turned and began running. "Sorry! Gotta run!"

As Spider-Man leaped into the air and swung away on a web line, George Stacy paid close attention to the backpack.

 **Not far away** from the center of police activity, Dr. Curt Connors readjusted the shoulder strap of his leather satchel, having paused to glance in the direction of all the commotion. The glimpse of a figure in red & blue dashed through the space between buildings a few blocks away before disappearing from sight.

"Never dull in this city." Curt muttered before turning away and entered the shadow of a building that spanned the entire city block. He pushed his way through the revolving door, taking a moment to pull out an ID card and clip it to the lapel of his shirt.

"Good morning, Dr. Connors." The female receptionist greeted cordially from behind the massive lobby desk.

"Good Morning, Abby." He returned while the guard at the security gate scanned his ID with a barcode reader. Curt gave the guard a polite nod when he was done and proceeded on to the elevator. Selecting his floor, he couldn't help as he looked out to stare at the man-sized letters of the corporate logo hanging above the entrance.

 _ **OSCORP**_

A soft ding welcomed Connors to his floor, a long hallway in front of him with doors on either side to other labs, his at the opposite end. There were no windows in the hall, day or night making no difference under the artificial lighting. Aside from a few typical pictures hanging on the walls of nature and motivational themes, there was no decoration along the off-white surfaces and grey carpeting.

Sliding his card over the security panel, the light changed from red to green and he pushed his way in. While the room was decently lit from the daylight, he flicked on the overhead lights. The first thing that always took his notice when entering the lab was the terrarium on the south wall. Ten feet tall and fifteen feet wide, it housed a number of different reptiles partitioned by mesh wire to keep them from attacking each other. A few common lizards scurrying around in one, a chameleon in another. In the lowermost section half filled with water was a marine iguana.

"Good morning guys and girls." Curt said, shouldering off his bag onto a desk and approaching the glass. "Time for a little breakfast."

 **Dr. Connors was just getting around** to the bottom of the case, a plastic container of food flakes procured for the iguana when the door to the lab opened again.

"Connors! Early again I see." Entering the room was a man with a stout chest and flanked by a pair of men in noticeably cheaper but still nice suits. His demeanor was friendly, his light brown hair styled in the distinctive wavy fashion from front to back.

"Mr. Osborn, to what do I owe the pleasure this morning?" Sprinkling a handful of flakes through the hatch on the side of the tank, Connors wiped his hand against the side of his coat and received the mogul with a handshake.

"Just stopping by to see how things are progressing, there's a lot riding on your work you know." Norman Osborn hesitated a moment before putting on a small smile and accepting the gesture. "There's going to be a lot of humble pie to eat down in Miami when your former colleagues see what you've accomplished."

"The university had their reasons, and I can't fault them too much… considering." Curt rubbed the back of his neck, visibly regretful about how things at the university had ended. "How could I have expected any other reaction?"

"Yes well, they have their own priorities. That's why I hired you to continue your project here, where you won't have to concern yourself with such… restraints." For a moment Norman Osborn caught his reflection in the glass of the reptile habitat and seeing the focus of yellowed eyes staring back at him, sharply turned away with a practiced tight-lipped smile. "Would you ah… would you mind if I looked at it again? These uh.." Gesturing to the two guests. "This is Mike and Jim, they're investors from Silicon Valley, big tech firm looking to expand their portfolio."

"Sure." Guiding the others across the lab to the cold storage locker, two feet tall and supported at chest-height by a stainless-steel column. Connors simultaneously placed his palm against a small glass panel and positioned his eyes in front of a retinal scan. With a pair of positive-sounding digital tones the door to the freezer parted from the frame with a hiss of compressed atmosphere.

"Extreme cold seems to render the cells inert. They don't deteriorate but they don't multiply either. Effectively, they're in hibernation." The space inside was not large and partitioned by two grated shelves. On the bottom were several vials in a stand containing viscous crimson liquids in a gradation of thin at the top and dark at the base.

On the shelf above sat the white ceramic dish set, shaped like a capsule with a lateral partition through the middle. No larger than if it contained a stick of butter, Dr. Connors handled it like a holy relic as he removed it. He used his stump to close the freezer and carried the dish over to a translucent box that stood atop a nearby table.

"Is all this precaution really necessary for such a small sample?" One of Osborn's guests asked.

Curt slid the dish in through a door on the side and locked it behind. "When the reactor at Chernobyl exploded, it sent fragments of the graphite used to contain the fuel rods all over the site, some no bigger than a regular old brick. Those pieces held enough radiation as 4 million chest x-rays, all contained in the palm of your hand. So… don't let the size fool you."

"So uh…" The other aide gulped, gazing eerily at the ceramic container. "How many X-rays is that thing giving off?"

"Well that's where it gets interesting."

Osborn couldn't help but let a smirk creep across his face.

"Normally-" Curt began. "Elements that we think of as 'radioactive' in the dangerous sense, are unstable elements, like Uranium 235 used in Chernobyl. They have too many neutrons in their atomic structure which are ejected in all directions, hence the radial aspect. This tissue however…"

Slipping his arm into the protective sleeve affixed to the side of the box, and flexing his fingers into the glove, Curt removed the lid of the dish and revealed a rough-textured bit of tissue inside. Dark grey-greenish colored scutella on one half, and pinkish flesh on the other.

"-kinda does the opposite. Instead of emitting the poisonous atoms, the cells retain them, horde them if you will. This hunk of Godzilla flesh is several weeks old but looks as fresh as the day it was blown off his hide. This is because the cells are directly powered by the radiation, healing what's damaged and multiplying. Under normal circumstance this flesh would be lethal enough to kill us in a week, but the cells simply don't give off the radiation. At least not as long as they think they need it to heal."

"So you're saying it's still alive? That tissue?"

"Quite alive, yes." Norman answered, staring down at the sample. "And given a stable environment with enough radiation, it's basically immortal."

For a few moments the room was quiet, the two men gaping at one another.

Connors tilted his head. "In a controlled environment, yes. From what we know about Godzilla is that his internal radiation levels fluctuate all the time and need to be replenished every so often. Immortality may be beyond even hm."

"Emphasis on the 'may'." A chuckling Norman patted Curt on the shoulder. "Harnessing the secrets of Godzilla's incredible regenerative power could usher in the next quantum leap in bio-medical technology. And Dr. Connors here is the one making it happen!"

Mike and Jim exchange impressed glances.

As Curt was restoring the shard of _Gojiran_ flesh to the freezer, Norman was escorting the investors to the door, the two men speaking so excitedly he could do little more than nod his head and say: "yes" and "very good" over again.

"-Alright, I'll meet up with you down in the cafeteria, I've got my best cook in today from Brazil." Once the door had closed behind the guests, Osborn spun back around with a wide grin. "Hook, line, and sinker, Connors! Pretty soon OSCORP pharmaceuticals is gonna be all over their social media site, or smart phone, or whatever they hell those kids make."

"Rising tide lifts all ships." Trading the ceramic dish for the collection of vials, Curt's own outlook was positive. "We can do a lot of good with this research."

"We sure can, Connors. So, no bullshit: How close are we to a real breakthrough?" Crossing his arms, the subtleties of Norman's expression shifted slightly, becoming more serious.

"There's basically one last major hurdle to figure out." Setting the pack down, he selected one, holding it up to eye level. "Crossing the species barrier. I've been using the DNA of the reptiles as a sort of catalyst towards blending with something more manageable. From there I can move onto mammalian tests."

"Translate that into a timeframe."

Connors paused, part of him was honestly deliberating the likely length of time required to do everything safely and with the comfortable amount of testing. The other part of him was considering what answer Mr. Osborn wanted to hear. "I'd say a year at the earliest."

Norman didn't respond immediately, rather he seemed to stare past Curt, thoughts seething just behind the eyes.

"Curt… obviously I would never want you to do anything dangerous, or something that puts the company at risk. But when I said there's a lot riding on your success here, I meant millions, with potential billions. And don't think that SHIELD won't eventually find out, they've got eyes and ears in places I can't imagine. And they won't be very happy when they do."

Curt Connors thought very hard before he answered. "I know you've invested a lot in my work, Mr. Osborn, and I'm very grateful you've taken this chance on me. I will do the best I can, you will not be disappointed."

Once more his demeanor shifted like sand, Osborn's hard visage softening. "I know you will, Curt. I know how… personally invested you are in seeing this through."

When the CEO turned to leave, Curt felt a weight dissolve off his shoulders. He may have more money and liberty to pursue his project, but there was no misconception that had also traded for a more demanding master.

"Besides…" Norman called over his shoulder as he opened the door. "You and your wife have settled into a very nice life here. I hope you can ensure it stays that way."

Connors stood in place, letting the words resonate with him.

The impact of the door shutting drew the attention of the animals, a gecko clung to the glass pivoting its head towards the sound.

 **Entering the elevator by himself** , Osborn selected a floor and took out his phone to check for any messages, finding one from 'Harry' and dismissing it. But he did click on the call button for a message from 'Alistair'.

"Mr. Smythe, you have something for me? …

Yes, the military contract is still ours, we outbid RAND and that HAMMER bitch….

Well I don't care if you have to invent cold-fusion, if that glider doesn't fly, they'll just turn to Stark and his god-damn repulsor tech!...

Fine, do what you have to."

Norman ended the call with an angry flick of the wrist, applying both hands to navigate the phone's menus.

 _You're so tense, Norman. You really shouldn't hold all that anger in… hehe..._

Looking up, he once again caught his reflection in the polished metal of the elevator doors. The disembodied voice continuing to cackle in a sinister joy.

 _It's not healthy for your nerves, you could snap! Hahaha!_

As Norman stood transfixed by his reflection, wraithlike yellow eyes stared back into him, laughing.

* * *

 **MIDTOWN HIGH SCHOOL**

"Mr. Parker, focus please."

His head snapping around to the beckon of the female teacher at the head of the class, Peter Parker stammered for a moment, using the delay to glance over the information on the whiteboard. It was history class, and the lesson was on the repercussions of the nuclear tests done in French Polynesia.

"I-I'm sorry, I was just… trying to imagine what kind of devastation ten megatons of nuclear fission does to the ecosystem of a tropical island group."

For a few second the teacher regarded Peter curiously. "Well that's what we're discussing today."

Reluctantly the teacher resumed her lecture, gesturing towards the whiteboard. Her voice absorbed into the ambient muffle of a high school classroom as Peter Parker once again shot a side glance over to the redhead sitting two rows to his right. Mary-Jane for her part was frequently dropping her attention down to her lap, where her phone was still on.

"Psst! Hey Pete!" The voice was barely above a whisper. Sitting to his left, the face of Gwen Stacy framed under ash blonde hair gave him a quick smile. "D'you hear about the fight downtown this morning?"

"Fight?" He asked, making sure the teacher's attention was elsewhere. "What fight?"

"Between Spider-Man and Mysterio!" She scolded playfully. "It' huge news!"

"Wh-What are people saying? I-I'm not really on social media."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Right…"

The period bell rang, and the students began collecting their things and exiting as the teacher spoke above the noise to assign homework. Mary-Jane almost jumped out of her seat at the sound of the bell, scooping up her books, her attention never diverted from her digital screen.

Gwen noticed that Peter's gaze had shifted again, following MJ out of the room as he slowly packed his own books. She brushed back a bang of hair and cleared her throat to recapture his notice. "Talked to my dad after it happened. He says Spider-Man foiled a robbery where Mysterio was using a hologram of a giant monster to mask his crime."

"Sounds pretty clever. That Spider-Man must be super-smart to figure him out." Entering the hall and plunging into a river of student bodies, the sounds of chatter and slamming lockers, they walked together.

"Or he has some kind of x-ray power to see though things." She teased.

"Well he can leap pretty high in a single bound…" He returned.

"Anyways… everybody is proclaiming Spider-Man as New York's resident monster hunter. Well, everybody except-"

"J. Jonah Jameson?" Peter finished the thought for her. _More like 'J. Jonah Jerk-off'_ He thought to himself.

"I just don't get it, Pete. That guy has some vendetta against Spider-Man. Despite everything he's done and all the people he's helped." Reaching her locker Gwen turned to him, her face scrunched in thought. "What do you suppose drives somebody like that?"

As Pater Parker stood there, he felt a tingle go down his spine, an uncanny sensation that something unpleasant was about to happen. Out of the corner of his eye, his perception seeming to slow time, he spied a paper meteor on trajectory to impact the right side of his head.

 _Let it happen. Just let it happen._ He told himself, mindful not to put his superior reflexes on display for everyone.

Indeed, he allowed the harmless comet to strike him on the cranium, intentionally swatting at it a second too late. "Nice reaction time, Parker!" He heard the boisterous voice of Flash Thompson call out as it moved down the hall.

"Some people are just jerks." He said with deadpan.

Gwen had to cover her mouth to stifle a chuckle and turned into her locker to trade one pair of books for another. "Hopefully our new mayoral candidate will take a positive position on our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."

"Who?"

* * *

 **ON THE STEPS OF THE NEW YORK STATE SUPREME COURT**

A crowd of hundreds gathered around the front of the classical columns of the courthouse, some with signs, many with their cameras, most just curious to see if what was announced this morning was really true.

' _HEY JERRY!'_ A few posters said in bold letters

' _NO GODZILLA FOR YOU, 1 YEAR!'_ Proclaimed another.

"Good morning everyone, thanks for coming out." Mid-way up the white stone steps, Jerry Seinfeld stood behind a podium, a dozen different microphones sprouting from the top. He wore a steel-blue suit with a black tie and standing behind him was a collection of happy onlookers clapping as he began to address the crowd.

"You know, for a lot of years I've been asking 'What's the deal?'. What's the deal with airline food? What's the deal with the RMV? What's the deal with the Knicks?"

A small murmur of chuckles from the crowd.

"Over the past several months however, I've been asking myself: 'What's the deal high property taxes in a city that gets destroyed all the time? What's the deal with a sewage system that spawns horrible smog monsters? What's the deal… with our superheroes opening portals to dimensions with giant monsters, that come over here, and level our cities?"

The audience quieted, now paying sober attention.

Jerry gauged the crowd, took a breath, and continued. "Eight months ago, our local super-powered social workers decided to play with the fabric of reality. Now I understand their intentions were noble, but when you or I make an honest mistake, it generally doesn't result in destruction and death. My last attempt to cut my own hair notwithstanding."

With a brief rise of laughter some of the spectators nodded their heads, muttering agreements.

"But I'm not here to blame them for things beyond their control. It's said that if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. Unfortunately, it's not just musicians and entrepreneurs that take that challenge to greatness to heart. We also have more than our fair share of criminals and villains who do their best, to do their worst.

In fact, if not for the superhero community, the Fantastic Four, Avengers, Daredevil, Luke Cage down in Harlem, even our feisty little Spider-Man, we might be uh... I don't know… trapped in stone, turned into mindless slaves, wiped out by a giant space laser."

"Invaded by aliens!" Someone called out.

"Yeah, we had a few of those." Jerry acknowledged. "We've also had a lot of our property destroyed, cars, businesses. 'Oh, there's a super villain? Let me pick up this person's twenty-thousand-dollar car that they haven't paid off yet, and need to get to work, and smash it over their head."

More than a few people pumped their fist and shouted.

"Look over here, a small business that someone poured their life's savings into and have to rely on employing family members to keep operating expenses down. Here, let me toss my arch-enemy into it and blow it up!"

"Yeah!"

"How many people here have gotten an I.O.U. from Tony Stark or Reed Richards for whatever they destroyed? Or spent months trying to file an insurance claim with SHIELD just to make sure you didn't wind-up broke?"

Now a rally of raised arms and shouts answered him, the crowd having grown with more and more coming around.

"Clearly… Clearly, we need the superheroes to face dangers that are beyond the capacity of law enforcement or even SHIELD to handle. But that doesn't mean we have to continue in this chaotic relationship!"

The crowd cheered.

"It doesn't mean that we have to keep footing the bill every time a building gets knocked over or a subway torn up!"

By now the crowd had more than doubled its original size, and it was roiling with applause.

"You've all heard this morning that I have announced my candidacy for Mayor of New York City. As mayor, I pledge to bring accountability to this cycle of destruction! Both heroes and villains will be held to account for the damage they cause! And believe me, they've got the money!

Well, maybe not Spider-Man, but definitely the likes of Iron Man and Victor Von Doom!"

"Jerry! Jerry!" The people had begun to chant, Seinfeld gesturing to his left to beckon one of the men standing behind him forth. A shorter man stepped forward, the top of his head bald with closely shaven sides and a pair of glasses.

"My campaign manager!" Jerry announced. "Mr. Jason Alexander!"

The former 'George Costanza' gave the crowd a nervous smile, a quick royal wave, and tried to retreat back.

"Ah, don't be so shy, Jason. Give 'em a better wave." Seinfeld said, patting him on the back to keep him in place.

"I'm just nervous in front of crowds man." Jason turned back once more to the cheers and spared them another nervous smile and raised hand.

"What do you mean? You've been in front of plenty of crowds."

"It's been a while, I'm just nervous."

"Well just stand with me here for a minute. Afterwards we'll go get a coffee."

"What kinda coffee?"

"I don't know, whatever kind you like."

* * *

 **THE DAILY BUGLE**

AFTERNOON

"Tomorrow's headline: Masked Menace Stages Monster Sized Robbery?"

Shaking his head in the office doorway, editor Joseph 'Robbie' Robertson shook his head. "Jonah, you know Mysterio was arrested at the scene. Police reports confirm it!"

Swiveling around in his chair, the editor-in-chief J. Jonah Jameson gave his junior editor a quizzical look, taking a moment to remove the cigar stub from between his teeth. "Hence the question mark, we don't know if Spider-Man didn't set the whole thing up! Him and that fish-bowl wearing freak working in cahoots!"

"That's a hell of a stretch, Jonah, even for you." Hands on his hips, Robbie couldn't believe the cognitive dissonance on display from his boss. "You sure you don't wanna run with the Seinfeld story for the cover?"

Jameson waved his hand, replacing the stogie. He had a manila folder in his other hand, and clapping it shut threw it on the desk. "For what? Some washed-up TV star wants to run for office? Like that'll ever win any election. Put it below the fold."

As Robertson sighed with resignation, he abandoned the threshold of his boss' office, contemplating how to make sure the article only insinuated some nefarious action on Spider-Man's part that didn't misrepresent the police reports.

Stationed just outside Jameson's office behind a desk stacked with papers and enough sticky notes to tile a roof, a black-haired woman sat filing her nails, glancing to her computer screen every few seconds.

"Betty! Hey!"

The brunette looked up to see an anxious Mary-Jane Watson striding up to her desk, backpack slung over one shoulder.

"'Sup kid." Betty Brant said, putting down her file and giving the teen a pleasant smile. "Dig up any hot leads today?"

MJ knelt beside the desk, fetching her phone from a pocket inside her jacket. "I think I've got a thread to something, I'm just not sure what. Check this out…"

Placing the phone on the desk, Watson swiped through a few pictures, pausing at one that seemingly showed nothing of particular interest.

"Ok, so you know how Mysterio used a hologram this morning to cover his robbery?" The teen said in a conspiratorial tone, hushed so as to not be overheard. "Here's the drone, there." Using her fingers to enlarge an upper section of the photo, the hovering craft became discernible amidst the background.

"I took this picture when it was still showing the monster. I don't know why but the optics was able to see through the illusion."

Betty twitched her lip. "Alright, so you've got a picture of a drone."

"Now check this one out." A few slides more, and the new picture was of the front of the jewelry store mid-explosion, the blast clearly coming from inside the building. "The explosion is definitely coming from inside, the monster attack just making it look like it got smashed."

"So the police report said." Brant was unsure where Watson was going with this, but the teen gave her a clever squint. "But you're just setting up the punch line, aren't you?"

"Since the bomb was already inside the vault, you'd think the investigation would inquire as to how Mysterio got it in there, but that's not the case. My… source in the police-" The last few words were spoken with a bit of discomfort, MJ brushing back a lock of hair as a physical tick. "He tells me that the investigation into the jewelry store is being quietly swept under the rug."

"Why would they do that?" Brant realized that this was getting somewhere and crouched down over folded arms to come level with Watson.

"That's the mystery." Concluding with a smirk, the redhead bit her lip. "This could be it Betty, this could be my big break!"

Betty Brant leaned back in her chair, contemplating a moment. "Let me talk to Mr. Jameson for a second."

MJ's jaw practically fell off its hinges as she watched her friend get up and go into the office of the Editor-in-Chief. Quickly, she brushed back her hair and made sure her clothes were straight, wanting to look presentable. For close to a minutes she waited, glancing around at the office at all the people bustling about, imagining having a spot among them.

Finally, Brant re-emerged, the eager expression she had worn going in, was now replaced by one of sobriety. She stood in the doorway, an arm holding the door open behind her. "Mr. Jameson would like to speak with you a minute."

Off-put by the change in demeanor, Mary-Jane hesitated before walking in, taking a second to gather her nerves before boldly going forward.

Leaning back in his chair parallel to the desk, Jonah was thumbing through a wire-bound notebook, his stogie resting in the ashtray on the corner of his desk.

"Hello, Mr. James-"

"-Sit down kid." Jonah cut her off with a flick of the wrist towards the swivel chair on the opposite side. "Betty tells me you think you've got a story."

"Ah, yes sir." Producing her phone, MJ swiped to the photo of the jewelry store explosion. "It started here and-"

"And according to your 'source', there might be a conspiracy to suppress the investigation." He looked at the picture briefly then pushed the phone away from him. "Tell me you've got something more than information we already know and information that you can't corroborate.". His volume rose with each word, the last one with a harsh sting.

Watson couldn't speak for a moment, not having anticipated the sudden hostility. "I uh… I just thought I could-"

"That you could what? Come in here with a potentially libelous story with nothing solid to back it up? You got a few things to learn about being an investigator kid."

Jonah swiveled to face her placing both hands on the desk, his stare boring into her. "You got moxie sweetheart but do yourself a favor and forget about this story, cover something you can substantiate. You look well dressed, go do a fashion show."

MJ said nothing. Instead, she kept her face down as she hastily pocketed her phone and swept out of the office. Jameson watched her leave and head towards the exit. Betty Brant appeared at the doorway a second after, fixing her boss with a look of abhorrence.

"I know her lead was thin, Jonah, but you didn't have to be such an asshole about it!"

"Trust me Betty, I'm doing that girl a favor." Picking the folder back up from where he had tossed it, Jonah went back to the reclining position and flipped through the contents. "Going after a story like that could get her killed." He stuck the smoldering cigar back in his teeth and ignored the frustrated huff of his secretary going back to her duties.

Looking down at the photo prints among the hand-written sheets, Jonah stopped on one that showed a crime scene. A single arm poking out from underneath a white sheet, a small black bag on the asphalt a few inches from the outstretched hand, and several mixed jewels scattered between.

* * *

 **OSCORP**

Hunched over his microscope in the dimmed laboratory, Dr. Curt Connors manipulated the focus dials and tools below with all the methodical precision of someone defusing a bomb. The view of Manhattan beyond the windows a topography of lights and towers in the city that never sleeps.

"Preliminary trial H-zero-five…" Speaking aloud, a digital voice recorder on the table next to him, he adjusted his face in the apparatus. "-Results are stable, hybridization has proven a key element in the transmission process. However, bonding in the final stage has yet to-"

Down in the dish, he watched a red blood cell and a greenish-translucent cell go from crammed beside each other, to merging with a final surrender. Connors gasped, his hand shaking as it moved away from the microscope's platform. "Bonding trial H-Zero-Five… Successful."

 **The white mouse in the center** of the glass case squirmed as it was held by the padded vice, tight enough to hold it but not harmfully. Its tail was missing at the base, a pink stump that twitched like a second nose, a patch of its rump shaved clean.

Connors approached the box, syringe in hand half-filled with a dark reddish liquid. "Alright little guy let's see if we can make you whole again." Reaching in through the left side, he gently pierced the exposed portion of skin and injected a few milliliters of the serum. Pulling back and locking the door to the case, he braced himself on the desk and waited.

Curt could feel his heart beating in his chest, anticipation tightening his throat.

When his phone started to ring, his knees locked so quickly he almost lost balance. Taking a moment to let his heart stop racing, he looked over to where it lay on the next table and saw his wife's name on the screen.

"Honey…" He began apologetically. "I'm sorry, I lost track of time. I've been so absorbed today."

"I figured." She answered. "I was just making sure. You can never be too careful in this city."

As Martha Connors continued to speak, Curt brought his attention back to the mouse, the adrenaline steadily wearing down.

"-how much this means to you, but I don't want-"

As he listened, the words faded to background noise as the stub of appendage started to elongate, raw pinkish flesh sprouting like a plant in a time-lapse video. Mouth hanging open and eyes widened, Curt didn't even breath, too gripped to tear his gaze away as the newly formed tail tapered to a point, the skin aging to match the base.

"Honey…". Curt muttered.

Martha stopped mid-sentence, immediately detecting the presence of something new in her husband's vice. "Yes? Is everything alright?"

"I think so." An irrepressible smile on Curt's face, a happy tear accumulating in the corner of his eye. "Yeah, I think we're gonna be great."

Somewhere in the distant moonlit horizon, a flash of lighting preceded the thunder.


End file.
